Stealth and Witchcraft 2
by pixichi
Summary: Sequel to my previous story.
1. Chapter 1

THE PAGAN WOOD:

Gwenevere straightened her posture, sealing up the waxy orifice just below her navel with soft green earth magic. The pod had opened painlessly as expected, and all three seeds had been removed easily without causing any of them harm. The little nymph smiled as she gingerly deposited each of them within an earthy mixture of soil, mulch, and a bit of her own yellow blood for nourishment.  
"There. That is the proper way for my young to grow."  
She nodded, grateful to have corrected the thief's blunder before the seeds had a chance to spring into saplings. Nymphs did not undergo pregnancy the way humans did, or at least, they preferred not too. It was all too foreign and difficult for them to undergo labor and delivery, and frankly, it often had very messy, very deadly results.  
Once all three were planted deep within the clay and loam pots she had constructed, Gwenevere stood from the forest floor and dusted pollen from her legs. Her beloved Garrett, was waiting for her. It was time to return to Nethalzia.

To return home with the manfool she adored.

**************************************************  
STEALTH AND WITCHCRAFT  
NEW BEGINNINGS:

Garrett was beyond silent as the train pulled off into the abyss of blue sky and endless wood. He just sat, staring transfixed upon the born again nymph across to him, three small homemade flowerpots cradled lovingly between her knees. She was watching them with as much dedication as any mother, although this obvious observation was all but overlooked by the thief. He knew nothing of such things, although he was soon to discover them.

That, and how ferocious feral creatures of Pagan whimsy could be, whilst protecting their young.

Garrett looked up at Gwenevere again, biting his lip in an almost comical fashion. If he did try to say something, when he did, what should it be? Truth be told, his mind was still fighting to process it all. How had any of this happened; let alone so quickly?

Little did he realize, that things would only escalate from here...

********************************************  
NETHALZIA  
SIX WEEKS LATER:

The young woman stood up, flipping a long strand of messy ruby hair from her eyes. They were a deep green, their mystery and splendor rivaled only by that of her radiant smile. It was the expression of a carefree child, yet there was also unmistakable maturity there as well.  
The woman walked around the many tables of the restaurant where she worked, treating some of the bistro's guests to the luster of her jovial expression. It was contagious and welcoming, causing their souls to brim with excitement and joy.  
"Thank you for visiting us, we hope to see you again real soon!" She waved goodbye as a young woman escorted her two sons from the tables.  
"Thank you Gwennie! I'm sure we'll be coming back this weekend. Jonathan has a break in his busy schedule." The older woman smiled. Gwenevere Simmons, smiled back.  
"Well, don't be a stranger Catrina! Always nice to see you!"  
"Likewise." With that, the mother and her children left. Gwenevere watched them go, averting her eyes up to the grandfather clock by the doorway as it struck three. Her shift was over.

She exited via the backdoor of the restaurant, traversed a few alleyways and gardens, then finally disappeared into the lush foliage of the Nethalzian wilderness. Once she was far from any prying eyes, Gwenevere reached up with her forefinger, and slid it across the iris of her left eye. The soft green contact loosened with little effort, and she silently tucked the lens away within her compact.  
Gwenevere looked down at her reflection within the icy stream. That devilish wood beast eye stared out from her left socket again; seemingly mocking her. She had escaped this monster, been reborn as a pure forest nymph. But this eye...it be here to haunt her forever.

She had given up on being 'normal'. Living in Nethalzia had purified her mind of all doubt. She had far more important things in her life to worry about, other than this disturbing eye.

Such as those odd hieroglyphs that she'd been seeing around town, or the letters that she'd been secretly receiving almost constantly in the mail...if you could indeed call them that.

Most of them were closer to threats.

Gwenevere looked down at her reflection in the water again. Her eyes narrowed when they caught sight of the masked figure behind her.

In one violent thrust, she sent her vines out to the intruder, intertwining him into submission with little effort. Her eyes gleamed a hellish red as she looked down into the frightened eyes of her quarry.  
"What do you want? Why are you following me?" She growled. The lanky form quivered under her ligneous grasp, reaching up to remove the wooden mask from their face. The features it concealed surprised the wayward nymph.  
He was a young man, no older than nineteen. His hair was a curly mess of sandy blonde locks, and several freckles dotted his small nose.  
"E-excuse me...but...y-you are Lady Simmons, are you not?" He stammered.  
Gwenevere's green eyes widened. Her grip on the stranger intensified. Garrett had given her firm warning to never use her magic in the vicinity of Nethalzia, for fear of blowing their cover. A ruse that they had both managed to keep going for months now without incident.  
But Gwenevere wasn't thinking about that. Being called 'Lady Simmons' again had stirred up a sea of painful and frightening memories for her. She was now determined to find out just what this stranger wanted with her. How he knew of her past, and more importantly, how he had managed to find her here in Nethalzia.  
"Who are you?" She sneered through clenched teeth, refusing to answer his question.  
"O-oh yes, please forgive me. My name is Timothy Woksworth. I am Sir Vladimir Simmons' attorney. With the passing of the city's baron, you now stand to inherit a great deal of money; not to mention power." He laughed weakly, still held firmly by the young woman's leafy whips.  
A chilling ultimatum tore through her body.  
How could she have overlooked what was right in front of her eyes?! With Simmons gone, of course the city would expect her to step forward as their new leader.  
Very few had actually been made aware of the truth behind Lord Simmons' daughter; why he really had her. Where she had come from. What she really was.  
And as such, they saw her as the next ruler.

Baroness Gwenevere Simmons.

Locking her demonic stare back into the young man, the nymph hissed.

"Talk to me."


	2. Chapter 2

We were lost, ravaged like branches in a storm. The world around us grew toxic and unfit to live in. I was there, and a part of me still remembers. I saw them. My people. Tall, lithe women of whimsy and lore, dark and ligneous, unbridled zest flying from their emerald eyes like saffron lightning. I recall their voices; a cacophony of what others would deem gibberish. But in truth, these were beautiful, meaningful phrases, intertwined and intermingled with the passion of raw earth.  
Mornings were spent lazily lounging within the cool thickets, feeling as the carefree winds lovingly combed our lustrous manes of ink and ivy. Yes, they all had deep obsidian hair; blacker than the stroke of midnight, thick yet soft, like a sea of silken shadows. Mine always stood me out from all the rest. A wavy waterfall of blood, fiery crimson that matched that of ripe Vixenfruit. Was this the complexity of my bloodline, or was I just unique? To this day, I still cannot be sure.  
Night was different. Special. I was forbidden to venture out of my nest after dark. But I had no fear of the untamed wood, nor the beasts that lurked within. For as long as I could remember, I knew that they would never harm me. However, I was innocent. Naive. Foolish. For beasts, were the least of my worries. There was something else far worse than feral beasts after me that night.  
The night that our Pagan world came undone.  
The night he came for me...

*******************************************************  
DEEP IN THE FORESTS OF RURAL NETHALZIA:  
Gwenevere looked from Timothy, to the dirt path that led back into town, unsure in which direction to head. In all honesty, she had no idea who he was; or how deep his involvement with Lord Simmons had been. Gwenevere had no clue if he was even trustworthy. What was even more unsettling, was that this same man had been able to find her where the city's finest patrols and investigators had failed.  
The little nymph twirled a piece of her ruby hair around her tiny hands, visibly pondering how to proceed.  
Should I try and run? No, that wouldn't do any good. Where would I run too? If I head back to the townhouse, he might follow me, and then he'd know where I live. And if he is dangerous...  
Gwenevere shook her head, her decision made. If this so called messenger wanted to speak with her, then he would have to do it right here in the forest.  
She looked down at him once more.  
"So, you said you had a message for me?"  
"Well yes! As previously stated, with the passing of your father," the way Gwenevere cringed at the mention of her kidnapper being at all related to her nearly caused Timothy to inquire. But he managed to contain his curiosity by clearing his throat. "Madam Simmons; are you quite certain that you feel content to discuss such important matters here, in the middle of the forest?"  
"To be honest, I can't think of a better place to undergo anything." The flustered nymph retorted, far more callous and short than was usual for her.  
The young messenger released an uncomfortable chuckle, and then seeing as he had no other clear choice, reluctantly took out a large leather briefcase from his backpack. Upon opening it, Gwenevere observed that it contained several lengthy documents.  
"Er-hem...I, Lord Vladimir Simmons, being of sound mind and body-"  
"-you are aware that I'm not his real daughter right?" She blurted. "He kidnapped me from the forest when I was just a child."  
"Oh my!"  
Timothy was obviously surprised by this revelation. Producing a thick pair of glasses from the briefcase, he affixed the lenses over his eyes and began to read the will over again. After several moments, he looked up at Gwenevere again with a somewhat bemused smile plastered across his lips.  
"Well, it would seem that you got the last laugh then!" He nodded.  
"Why do you say that?"  
"Well, his will clearly stipulates that you, Gwenevere Simmons stand to collect upon his passing, and if you're worried about legal mumbo jumbo and the like, you'll be elated to hear that nowhere in here does it refer to you as his daughter."  
Gwenevere huffed. It figured.  
Simmons had stolen her away from her home with the sole purpose of spilling her blood. Gwenevere turned away and slipped her color contact back up over her left eye. Even if he appeared unfazed by it, she hated the idea of anyone other than Garrett seeing her wood beast eye.  
Timothy continued to read.  
"Just so long as you are older than twenty," He looked her up and down, as if trying to decider her age. Finally, he just asked. "Forgive my rudeness m'lady, but do you perchance have documentation proving your age?"  
"Nope, and I'll just tell you; I'm only nineteen."  
Gwenevere exhaled at the obvious loophole in the late lord's will. Since he never planned on allowing her to make it past twenty, Simmons clearly had nothing to lose; all the while making it appear as if Gwenevere was indeed, his legal daughter. She looked down at the forest floor and gently ran her foot over a soft patch of grass.  
"So, I suppose this means that you can go home now." She encouraged, eager to be rid of this uncomfortable reminder of her past.  
"Not exactly. You see the will only states that you won't see any inheritance money until you turn twenty. But the city still needs a new leader. I'm afraid that I cannot leave without you."  
"Then I'M afraid that you're in for an awfully long wait, Mr. Woksworth."  
There was a moment of uncomfortable silence between the two, before the young man removed his glasses and tucked them back within his briefcase with a heated sigh.  
"Before I forget, Madam Sim-"  
"-Just...Gwenevere, if you please..." She uncomfortably corrected him.  
"No last name to go with that?" Timothy stared at her, clearly interested in her response. Gwenevere silently giggled within the recesses of her untamed heart. She suddenly remembered what her tree beast guardian, the ancient temple keeper had told her shortly before he passed.

Names were pretty, but meaningless.

Garrett. The man she loved; devoted her life to. Gwenevere had done this silently and in a way that would neither bother nor oppose the thief's strict beliefs and credo. Not through marriage or other surface constructs, but rather through loyalty and an unquestioned devotion and desire to both serve and learn from him.

"Taffer." She responded.

Timothy nearly jerked back upon hearing the term most commonly reserved for lowlifes, or as an insult.  
"E-excuse me m'lady, but there is really no need for THAT kind of behavior!" He corrected. Gwenevere felt her face flush.  
"Oh! N-no! That's my last name..." She uncomfortably brushed a strand of hair behind her right earlobe.

At least, that's what she assumed Garrett's last name was. That was what most people seemed to call him anyway. She recalled a very colorful time, back during her apprenticeship in late winter of last year, when a particularly enraged member of the watch had roared after her thief using that name.

Gwenevere knew that sometimes, public officials tended to call civilians by their last names, partially out of respect and partially out of militaristic habit. In this particular case however, it was almost certainly the latter, because that guard had been beyond furious at the thief as he raced across the rooftops, a hefty sack of coin and silver baubles in tow.

The nymph knew that this word also had a few different meanings, but then again, so did the last names 'Miller', or 'Brown'. Her green and gold eyes glistened.

Fate had never exactly been Garrett's best friend.

"Well I sincerely pity you then. Now, Madam...Taffer..." The young man was clearly still in a state of disbelief. "It may interest you to know, that in the event that his lordship passed before your twentieth birthday, all of his money, and you, would have been left to an old friend of his." Gwenevere's elven ears pricked behind her cinnabar mane at this.  
"What?!" She gawked. Simmons had never allowed her to leave the manor without an escort. It surprised her to think that he would entrust her to another, rather than simply having her disposed of after his death. "Who?!" She demanded, shaking the frail young man by the collar.  
"H-his name is Cedric Mcclay. I don't really know much about him, m'lady." Timothy grinned weakly at her excited onslaught. Gwenevere released the sides of his shirt with a small, pouty huff.  
"Oh..." She muttered.  
"I...do happen to have a letter from Mr. Mcclay. It's the strangest thing; I found it nailed to the door of my hotel room this morning. I'm not sure you'll even want it though." He informed. Instantly, Gwenevere rushed forward and snatched the newly produced parchment from the nervous messenger.  
The moment she did so however, Gwenevere nearly shrieked and dropped it to the moss-laden earth.  
The letter was sealed with a strange, glowing blue glyph.

Eerily similar, nay, identical...to those she had been finding around Nethalzia.


	3. Chapter 3

"Keeper Mcclay! Your lunch is ready."  
A soft-spoken young lad around fifteen approached with hopeful wide eyes. The man he was addressing sat with his back turned, looking down from one of Nethalzia's most beloved landmarks; a tall tower from centuries past. Back then, the building had been used by valiant soldiers to spot threats rising up from the uncharted wilderness, or navel vessels as they came in from the southern river.  
The youngster crooked his brow, observing his master, but deigning to speak again out of a deep respect. Once Keeper Mcclay became lost in his thoughts, it was best to allow the middle-aged man to return to reality on his own accord.  
Eventually, the grey-haired man opened his eyes. They were a wild brown, like those of a bear, but they were also large and extremely kind. With the utmost grace harbored by only those of both incredible skill and intelligence, Keeper Mcclay turned around to face his assistant.  
"Tobias, always so patient and eager to please." He smiled and reached for the wicker tray containing his meal. Then he sat back in his armchair, groaning slightly. "I have so been enjoying the fare from that sweet little bistro. You may not know this Toby, but ironically, authentic Nethalzian cuisine has been getting harder and harder to come by."  
"Why is that sir?"  
Keeper Mcclay gingerly began to unwrap the moist paper bag from a well-seasoned fillet of fish. The meat was intermingled with wild rice, sun-dried tomatoes, and several fresh cut vegetables. Just looking at the steamed meal was causing Tobias's mouth to flood with saliva.  
The sensation only worsened as his master took a hearty portion up in his fork. It splintered off from the rest of the fish flawlessly.  
"Because, authentic Nethalzian cooking requires some pretty specific ingredients. Namely, a type of spice that for some reason, only the Pagans know where to find and how to produce."  
"Then perhaps, that restaurant has someone working there who knows were to get some."  
The older man ceased his chewing and swallowed.  
"Yes. And I can only hope that she's been receiving my messages." He sighed. Tobias leapt back.  
"What?! Is THAT why we're here? Are we looking for someone, master?" Keeper Mcclay looked up at the young man and frowned.  
"Now Toby, I've already told you; there really is no need for such formalities. Keeper Mcclay will do just fine." He chuckled warmly.  
"Y-yes." Tobias bowed. "But just who is this 'she'?"  
"Now that, is a very long story. The shortest answer, is that she may or may not have something to do with a recent prophecy we've uncovered. The only way to determine this, is for me to further observe her from a distance. This is why I have been eating food from the bistro every day."  
Tobias burst out in uncontrollable laughter.  
"And here I thought you just really enjoyed their cooking."  
"I do. But I have also been infusing the trays you return with special magic that allows me to observe the goings on within the restaurant, and more specifically, what the one we seek is up to."  
"What have you discovered, if I may ask?"  
"Well, she's certainly a good candidate for the one we've been told of by the glyphs. But the details still only vaguely match her." Keeper Mcclay locked eyes with Tobias. "I will need to wait and see her in action before I know for sure."  
"Action? What action?"  
"Patience, young ward. Her kind have always been showy, flighty. Full of both untamed glory and dangerous malice. When she does decide to show her true nature, I shall be prepared to decipher whether or not more action is needed to protect her from those who seek to kill her."  
"Kill?!"  
Keeper Mcclay chose to ignore his assistant's most recent display of unbalance, and once again began to eat his lunch whilst overlooking the gorgeous Nethalzian countryside.

Gwenevere stared unblinking down at the letter. Her insides screamed, demanding for her to pick it up and read its contents. But her entire body was frozen in uncertain dread. Timothy watched her in wonder. What was it about the glyph that had startled her so?  
Before he could bother to ask, they nymph reached a trembling hand into the rabbit fur pouch that donned her waist.  
Back when she had been trying to apprentice under Garrett, a task that she had all but failed at, the pouch had contained small clay grenades filled with debilitating spores for rendering her enemies unconscious. But now it was merely a means for carrying around her things.  
With an inaudible sigh, she withdrew a small bronze pentagon from the inside.  
The Memory Keeper relic that Garrett had given her after her first semi-successful training mission.  
She pointed the object at the letter, and felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.  
No doubt about it. The glowing blue glyphs carved within the Memory Keeper, were one and the same with that sealing the letter.  
"What ARE these things? Why do they glow like that?" She whispered. "I have never understood that."  
"Oh, you mean the glyphs? That's an old Keeper thing m'lady." Timothy informed, finally finding his voice.  
"Keypers? Were they the ones who invented keys?" Gwenevere inquired, craning her head to the side.  
"Not as such, although some say that they hold the keys to true knowledge. Every last bit of it." Timothy's usually nervous tone took on a very solemn tone.  
As Gwenevere pondered his words, the faintest of recollections hit her hard.  
Garrett had mentioned before, of his late involvement with the Keepers.  
Forcing herself to be bold, Gwenevere snagged the letter up from the mossy earth.  
"I-I have to go! Thank you for everything Mr.. Woksworth!"  
"M'lady?" The young blonde beckoned for Gwenevere, but to no avail.  
With a new burst of energetic drive, the nymph fled the forest with an inhuman speed and agility, and he could never have hoped to follow.


	4. Chapter 4

"What?! You taffing did what?!" Garrett hollered at the ruby-haired girl in front of him. "Gwenevere, we've already been through this HOW MANY times?! If someone you perceive as a threat approaches you, then you need to subdue them."  
"But Garrett-"  
"-DON'T 'but Garrett' me Gwenevere; I'm completely immune to your nymphy charms." He huffed, crossing his arms and turning his head to the side. "Why the hell didn't you knock him unconscious the second he mentioned Simmons?!"  
Gwenevere traced her toe along a crack in the floorboards, searching anxiously for an answer that failed to come.  
"I didn't have any means of doing so...you know that I don't carry my spore grenades with me any longer."  
"Yeah, and I still don't understand why. You may have..." The thief squeezed his eyes tightly closed. Deep down, it flooded him with unending disappointment and pain that she had given up on her training. Even if her means were unconventional, Gwenevere had been learning; had been improving. But after the torment she had survived, the unspeakable nightmares she had overcome, Garrett knew it wasn't in his place to force her into continuing. But even still..."...you may have decided to go in a different direction with your newly gifted life, but you should still always have a means of defending yourself Gwenevere."  
"I don't like the idea of carrying around such dangerous things whilst working at the restaurant. What if one of them accidentally shattered and hurt someone?" Her green eyes grew livid with fear. Garrett sighed.  
"Gwenevere, you need to understand something. Caring about others is 'nice' and all, but you should always put yourself first. Otherwise, you will be the one paying the price for the sake of others. Whether they be friend, or foe."  
"I really don't want to talk about it anymore Garrett." The nymph murmured.  
"Well that's too bad, because frankly I'm sick of waking up every evening, hearing that you nearly got us discovered again." He stepped forward and clasped both of her shoulders, firmly but gently. The thief cast his bi-colored stare into her soul, locking her into an inescapable prison that she could not turn away from.  
"G-Garrett!" Gwenevere gasped.  
"This stops tonight. I never wanted you working at that bistro, but you were infatuated with the place for some reason. And just like any other woman I've ever known, you don't listen to a damn thing I say."  
There was a deep anguish in his voice where there should have been annoyance, and Gwenevere knew why. Every woman Garrett had known before, which made up only a fraction of his encounters, had gotten into serious trouble, or much worse, by failing to heed his wise advice.  
Gwenevere gawked, her eyes shimmering in wonder as both the thief's mechanized eye and solemn hazel beacon widened. The left's pupil grew dilated and shaky, whilst the right focused with a low, zippy buzz. He was within her now, traversing her every cell; intermingling with her untamed spirit.  
"Garrett. I'll do whatever you ask of me." Gwenevere spoke in a voice barely above a weak whimper.  
"I do not want you to become my slave Gwenevere, nor my puppet or servant. You don't need to say such things to me. I just want you to take my advice to heart. Listen to me."  
"Yes."  
"You need to quit that job at the bistro. If this Woksworth guy is associated with Simmons in any way, I don't want him getting near you again. Listen, we've been living here in Nethalzia for almost seven weeks now." The thief stood, steadily releasing Gwenevere from his intoxicating gaze. He turned away from her, staring both apprehensively and longingly at the three flower pots situated atop the window ledge. "I got a letter from Basso yesterday. With both Heleana and Simmons gone, the city is in a state of confusion and unrest. Apparently the watch are going ape shit with trying to find a new ruler, and as such, they've forgotten about public enemy number one."  
"Who's that?" Gwenevere cocked her head. Garrett looked her up and down.  
"Seriously?"  
Her confused silence gave him his answer. The thief released a loud sigh, letting his shoulders slump.  
"Anywaaaay...it sounds like we can go back now." Gwenevere was obviously crestfallen by this shift in events, and what Timothy Woksworth had recently told her did nothing to relieve her stress. She looked up at her thief again. He was obviously very unnerved with her latest folly. There was no point in making it worse by telling him about what the messenger had stated.

That SHE was expected to become the new leader of the city.

"Well, that's good!" Gwenevere laughed weakly, trying desperately to mask her sadness and unease. "I was beginning to seriously miss Sophie and Basso. Even Erin." Her words caused Garrett's body to stiffen again.  
"Oh damn..." He shuddered.  
"What?! What is it?!" Gwenevere inquired, dashing in front of Garrett to get a close look at his face. The thief was extremely uncomfortable about something.  
"They all still think that you're dead...The last time I saw any of them was that morning in the forest; when I...unknowingly replanted you..." He managed a small smirk, although Gwenevere could see right through it. Gwenevere's heart began to pulse quicker as adrenaline found her veins.  
"But I thought you said that Basso had been sending you letters?"  
"Yeah? So?"  
"Well, doesn't that mean that you've also been sending them? Didn't you tell him?"  
"Tch, I got ONE letter from the old codger. He knows how I get when certain...instances...befall me. Basso probably figured it best to leave be be for a while. Heck, he didn't even mention your 'death' in the letter. All business, just the way I like it." Garrett's expression had relaxed enough by now that a smug grin now donned his elongated face.  
"Well, what are you gonna tell him?"  
Garrett looked over his shoulder at her, still grinning.  
"Nothing. Let's just surprise em'."  
"Are you really sure that's wise? Let alone nice?"  
"Damned if I know Gwenevere; I've got more important things on my mind." The thief shrugged. He looked her up and down again, his smile expanding. "Besides, the sooner I get my overexuberant little nymph away from potentially dangerous strangers, the better. You're like a taffing puppy Gwenevere; unconditionally sweet to everyone." He shook his head.  
"I know, I've been trying to be more careful; trust me I have Garrett!" She exclaimed. "But being reserved and cautious just doesn't come easy for me. I'm not a brooding grumpy human like you."  
"I'll take that as a compliment." He murmured.  
"Garrett? Can I ask you about something?"  
"Go ahead." The thief encouraged.  
"How much do you know about the Keypers?" Garrett looked genuinely surprised at her unexpected question, but then he scoffed.  
"More than I ever cared to, believe me."  
"Then...then what are the purpose of glyphs?"  
"They have many purposes. Where are you going with this Gwenevere?" Garrett hurriedly pressed her, his back turned now, as he was already beginning to pack for their departure.  
"Well, what if a non-Keyper started seeing them all over town? What would that mean?"  
"That those pretentious scholars are taffing with you, that's what." Garrett snorted, leaning over the bed as he threw a few spare straps of leather into his duffel bag.  
"So, it's like a joke then? Or a prank?" Gwenevere stepped closer, eyes gleaming through the darkness. Her persistence came as a surprise to Garrett. Nearly eight months, and she had rarely asked about his life before her. Why would she ask about this of all things now?  
Standing up straight, the thief turned to face her.  
"Gwenevere. I'll ask you once again. Where are you going with this?"  
The little nymph bit her bottom lip, looking up at him coyly.  
"You may want to take a seat..." She giggled, shuffling her feet as her jittery nerves intensified.


	5. Chapter 5

Garrett raced through the night, his agile form temporarily silhouetted against the full moon as he leapt from the roof of his townhouse to a neighboring building. Once he felt the shingles below his feet, the thief closed his eyes, pressing his index finger against his temples. That special place which had been awoken, during his Keeper Training long ago.  
If there was indeed an unseen Keeper around this place, Garrett was sure to find him.  
And he didn't have long to wait.  
Within moments, the thief caught sight of a hunched hooded figure two blocks away. They were facing the back wall of the bistro where Gwenevere worked. Garrett gave a sharp sound of disgust as he locked his attention upon his quarry. What was that girls obsession with helping others, to the point of which it endangered her very life?  
While he wasn't an expert, Garrett wouldn't exactly describe the nymph race as 'helpful'. So why was Gwenevere? Was it due to her domestication by Simmons? Or was this overflowing generosity and compensation draining from the poor girls subconscious; steadily and desperately compensating for a time when she clung to none?  
Garrett shook his head with a low moan. Thinking of Gwenevere's past was always something that caused him to feel very uncomfortable. A part of him knew that there were still unknown demons lurking behind her emerald and saffron glare. Demons that would cause the very recesses of her being to shriek, once uncovered.  
Truths about her past that were better left in the shadows.  
"Focus on the job. It's all about the job." He meditated, regaining his focus.  
Turning his full attention back onto the lone person below, Garrett tapped the corner of his right eye. The mechanized prosthetic whizzed and zoomed in to focus, illuminating the stranger in a sepia and while haze. He appeared to be moving his fingers gently across the wall. Smooth and flawless were his motions, and with each swipe of his skilled digits, a glowing blue line would corporealize against the tan bricks.  
Garrett scowled.  
No doubt about it. The person below, was indeed a Keeper.  
And the thief has caught him in the act of leaving yet another glyph for Gwenevere.  
He hadn't given her the liberty of explaining herself before throwing his cloak around his shoulders and rushing off. There was nothing that she could say, and frankly, none of this was even her fault. Garrett really didn't want to waste precious time watching Gwenevere cry her eyes out about how 'sorry' she was, when there was potential danger lurking just past their doorstep.  
He would have plenty of time to console her later. But right now, he had a very important mission to complete. And a very suspicious Keeper to interrogate.  
The thief raced off, adamant to find out just what this strange man wanted, and furthermore, what he was doing here in rural Nethalzia.  
It was common knowledge that the group had been gone for years following the dramatic events fifteen years back. But apparently, this was not the case.  
For the Keeper before him, was very much alive.  
"I thought you guys were supposed to be extinct..." The thief called bitterly from the shadows, having just clambered down from his midnight perch. Begrudgingly, the middle-aged man turned to face him.  
"There is nothing more powerful on this earth than knowledge. As such, it can never be fully eradicated." Garrett rolled his eyes at the all too familiar sage-like 'wisdom' the man before him was spewing. "You sound bitter...have I done something to upset you? Is there a problem?" Garrett got right to the point.  
"Damn straight there's a problem here." He snapped. "It was bad enough when your kind was out harassing me. But NOW you Keepers have taken it upon yourselves to stalk my apprentice, and I wanna know why." The older man frowned.  
"That is none of your concern." Keeper Mcclay remarked, solemn, yet very firm. Garrett's brows furrowed.  
"You crossed a line." The thief growled. "And clearly, you have no idea who I am, so let me make it clear the only way I can for your kind."  
With that, he brought up his left hand and in one violent motion, pulled free the fingerless leather glove that hid his most shameful of scars. He held up the key-shaped burn mark for the wizened soul before him. Keeper Mcclay's eyes widened as the key began to glow with a soft bright light.  
"You're...Garrett. The One True Keeper..." He spoke with such awe that his voice nearly gave out. Garret remained serious and cold, glowering at the humbled sage before him.  
"That, among a sackful of other names that I have absolutely no value or interest in." The thief scoffed.  
"F-forgive me, Great One...but I had no idea-"  
"-Great One?! Tch, okaaayy...I will admit that one's new..." Garrett rolled his eyes.  
"B-but you do not understand! Gwenevere Simmons, may be part of something that could spell the end of everything we hold dear!" Keeper Mcclay stuttered, choosing to ignore the thief's rude remark.  
"As dramatic as ever, I see. Look, I have only one thing to tell you, so let me just go ahead and finish this before it gets any worse. Stay. Away. From. Her. I have Keeper training, as you no doubt are all too well aware of. If I see any more damned glyphs or sense any of you Keepers following her, I'll-"  
"-Garrett. Peace my brother, calm yourself and allow my words to reach your ears. As respected and renowned within our faction as you are, I am afraid that I cannot do as you ask."  
"Figures...why do you Keepers have to be so god-dammed stubborn and annoying?"  
"What you perceive as an annoyance, WE perceive as a duty. Stubbornness, as dedication. But I digress. I understand, dear thief, your reluctance to trust. To see that which can never be altered or changed. I know your history well." Keeper Mcclay smiled sympathetically. "Artemus always spoke highly of you, regardless of what the others thought."  
"I will admit, he WAS the least obnoxious of you lot." Garrett muttered. "Hell, there were times when he actually seemed like a normal person."  
"He was often the only one who could reach you; a most impressive act. Artemus could always manage to counter even the most unbalanced of souls. Truly, he had a gift."  
"Look, just stay away from Gwenevere, alright? She has absolutely nothing to do with your bloody prophecies; trust me. That ship has sailed, thankfully."  
Garrett cast his eyes up to meet the hazy sea of stars overhead, replacing the glove over his hand. With a loud groan of aggravation, he started off into the darkness.  
However, the wizened Keeper's next words stopped him cold.  
"Yet there are many others who beg to differ. So much so, that they would snuff out her life in an instant, given the slightest provocation. Nay; opportunity." Keeper Mcclay's eyes narrowed.  
In an instant, Garrett spun around, his cloak whipping with the small gust of wind it managed to catch. It took only a glance for the elder to affirm that this time, he had the thief's attention.  
"I'm gonna ask you once; who or what is after her?" He snarled, the color within his eyes darkening.  
"The Hammerites. They believe that she may still be a threat, even with her god blood destroyed."  
"Wait just a second...you mean to tell me that the Hammers are still around as well?!" The thief gaped, growing angrier by the minute.  
"Why, yes of course! Or did you truly believe that Heleana, Karras's distorted abomination truthfully had the political power to fully vanquish such a powerful order?"  
"I never took her for granted, doing so was suicide. Believe me; I know." Garrett retorted, recalling how some of his fences had mysteriously gone 'missing' after getting a little too involved in Heleana's private affairs. "That woman always had an inhuman ability to surprise. Now I know why, unfortunately..."  
Garrett held his head, the memory of the cyborg's dramatic reveal burned hopelessly into his mind. Those eyes. Never before, in any being, creature or human, had Garrett ever witnessed such unspeakable malice. Such a blatant and powerful desire to end another's life.  
"Past happenings aside, the Hammerites are indeed alive and functioning. Most happened to be off in the far east for the longest time. Apparently off on some 'Builder's Crusade'."  
Garrett was surprised to see Keeper Mcclay actually roll his eyes as the last words left his tongue. Never in his lifetime had he ever expected to find a Keeper who disliked the Hammerites as much as he did.  
"I'll bet they were in for a shock when they got back and found pretty much all of their city followers assassinated."  
"I'm sure that also has something to do with Gwenevere." Keeper Mcclay's tone was serious again. Garrett's blood ran cold.  
"What?! Tell me you aren't serious! They actually blame GWENEVERE for that?! What, did they all simultaneously inhale too many fumes from their furnaces or something!?"  
"More likely it was simply easier to blame the rival faction." The elder corrected, not catching the joke.  
Garrett shook his head. Of course he wouldn't.  
"Fine. All the more reason to leave Nethalzia."  
"Oh? You are leaving then?"  
"Yeah, and don't even think about trying to follow after us." Garrett growled.  
"There is no need. I already know where you are headed."  
"Your precious glyphs tell you that?"  
"No. You are just one with the city, Master Thief. It makes the most sense that you would eventually return." Keeper Mcclay nodded.  
"'One with the city'? Tch, Keepers..." Garrett groaned. He started away again, stopping once to speak one final warning. "I'm dead serious. Don't follow Gwenevere and I, or else you'll see just what your 'Great One' is capable of."  
As soon as the elder was sure that Garrett was out of earshot, he gave a decisive nod.  
"Oh, I already do, dear boy. The question is, do you? Honestly and truly? Because your path is about to be tested in ways never before thought possible, Garrett. And when that happens, you had better pray that mouth of yours matches your skills."


	6. Chapter 6

THE PAGAN MAW  
NINETEEN YEARS AGO:

The drums sounded wildly into the night, firepits blazed with infernal splendor, their flames reaching up towards a sky rich with stars. Gathered around these pits were several daunting forms, some human; some far less so. In the middle of all of this, was a small mound of soil, carefully cultivated, and illuminated by several glowing green orbs. Woodsie Emeralds. These are what had kept the unseen and beautious growing creature here, safe.

And now, it was time for her to finally bud forth, and begin her destiny.

In the distance, wolves howled and ape beasts shrieked through the trees. The drums grew faster, louder, until their melodies could be heard throughout the Pagan wood; and reverberated as distant, haunting echoes in the city just beyond. Most of the humans at this gathering were wearing masks, carefully carved from the skulls of deer. Respectfully painted thereafter with their wearers own blood, as an act of respect and 'thanksgiving' for the sacrifice and gift of the creature whom had once carried these bones within its body.  
The warm summer air was disrupted as a wave of sulpher stink flooded the forest gathering. Instantly and simultaneously, the hearts of every lifeform within the gathering stopped momentarily. The stars went out, as did the moon, and the forest was left in a discomforting state of indescribable blackness.  
That, was until, he broke through that shaded veil.  
The broken god, returned, repowered.  
Vengeful.  
His form could best be described as a man's body, only much larger than normal, the lower half covered in thick black hair. Fur. He was naked from head to toe, but the shaggy pelt that donned his thighs and legs concealed most of his nudity. Large, menacing horns donned his head, and in place of human feet, were cloven hooves. He also had a long, reptilian tail, and the extremity writhed and ungulated ravenously.  
Ignorantly, he had been donned by the Hammerites, as the devil himself. In truth, this was not the case at all. He was another god, like that of the Builder, or Raaquann; lord of the seas. He was an evil deity of nature, of chaos, of these people. And while he wasn't the devil, the way he looked at that moment; he might as well have been.  
The Pagans all fell silent. The drumming ceased, and behind their bone masks, every last one of their pupils were fully dilated. This was what they had been waiting for; a prophecy, centuries in the making.  
Along with him, was a tall, ligneous woman. Like her companion, she was nude. But unlike him, she had no such fur to conceal her more scandalous places. Her hair billowed like slick black ink in the wind, which had grown ice cold, despite the fact that it was summer.  
Seeing these two entities together aroused a grand excitement within the pagans. Soon after these powerful leaders had made themselves known, wild whooping, chanting, and animal screams and howls flooded the forest.  
But every one of these exclamations fell deathly silent as the tilled earth surrounded by the seven Woodsie Emeralds, began to shift.  
It started as a low whimper, but within seconds it became apparent that something more animal than plant was frantically clawing its way to the surface. The pagans paled in wonder, as the head of a small celadon creature poked past the softened mound of dirt.  
It's eyes were a gleaming yellow, and it's face resembled that of a baby wolf with the fat, squat build of a bear cub. It's entire body was composed of very fine, soft downy moss, and tiny, barely seeable flower buds lined it's thin tail. The creature took a moment to sniff out its surroundings, as if searching for something that was missing.  
That, was when the ebony-haired nymph stepped forward.  
Without any hesitation, she clutched the trembling creature with both hands. Their eyes locked, and then, in dead nymph tongue, she spoke the name of this new life.  
Her daughter.  
At the proclamation, the creature's body began to glow a brilliant, blinding green. When the light dissipated back into the overlooking sky, the moon returned. The little beings form had since shifted into that of a small, ruby-haired baby girl. Her overly long eyelashes fluttered once, before opening to reveal unnaturally glorious eyes.  
Verdant grassy forests, intermingled with lost Pagan gold.  
The nymph spoke something softly in nymph to the child, and then held the baby up to the crowd of pagans.

Once again, the forest became a cacophony of rejoicing.

The Dark Project, had begun...

***************************************************  
NETHALZIA  
PRESANT DAY:  
Gwenevere awoke with a start. She looked over her shoulder frantically to see if Garrett had returned in the night. What she found instead, chilled her body and caused her to scream. A middle-aged man with a short beard and goatee was laying facedown in a pool of his own blood. A nasty-looking serrated dagger was still firmly clenched within his hand.  
He appeared to have died instantly. But from what?  
"Gwenevere!" Garrett's voice boomed from the doorway.  
The nymph looked up at him, clutching the thin sheets tighter around her bare chest. The thief began to pant heavily when he observed the corpse laying upon the floorboards. His stomach twisted over on itself as he recalled what Keeper Mcclay had mentioned; about the Hammerites being out to kill Gwenevere.  
And while this man clearly was no Hammer, he HAD obviously tried to murder her.  
"G-Garrett...t-that guy...h-he was...he was gonna..." She whimpered pathetically.  
The thief didn't hesitate. He rushed to the bed, and wrapped his shivering arms around her. He clung to her tightly as Gwenevere allowed tears of panic to leave her eyes. Garrett ground his teeth as he held onto her.  
This was too close. He had already seen life leave her body by Heleana's hand; and it was only by sheer coincidence that he had accidentally replanted her in what he assumed had been her final resting place.  
The thief knew very little about nymphs, and most of that came from personal experience. Even the Keepers had very few tomes on these mysterious woodland women. In all honesty, Garrett was left wondering if any other than he and perhaps the Pagans knew that they could be replanted and resurrected like that.  
But this recent memory, brought with it another. Of a far less happy time in his life.  
No, THAT particular memory, could easily be described as one of his hardest of trials.  
Again, his stomach shifted, and a sharp fissure shook both his mind and heart.  
They could be replanted.  
He could have...replanted...her...  
Before the rust gas claimed every ounce of her oozing, broken form.  
All it would have taken, was one small seed...  
Garrett squeezed his eyes shut with a silent, yet very agonized groan.  
Was that why she had cursed him? Was there perhaps more to her shift in attitude than just the thief's 'corruption' of her only daughter?  
Garrett pulled back violently.  
The past was past.  
Now, he had Gwenevere to look after.  
And it was time to get the hell out of Nethalzia.  
He grabbed at her shoulders, and shook her once.  
"Gwenevere. Are you alright!? Did he hurt you!?" He demanded.  
"I-I didn't even know he was there, until I awoke. I had a weird dream..."  
She brushed her long red bangs from her damp eyes. Garrett gazed down at her pillow. It was wet with more tears. The thief was growing impatient.  
"Well, if you didn't kill him, then who..."  
Garrett's attention was suddenly grabbed by something he hadn't noticed upon entering the room. Invisible to those who did not possess Keeper Training, it was the answer to his unfinished question.  
Another glyph.  
Although this one was different than the ones Keeper Mcclay had been leaving. This glyph, was glowing a sinister red, and shaped like a curved scythe.  
Garrett shuddered. He had only seen such glyphs once before, as they were used by only one stem of the Keeper Faction.

The Enforcers.

The Glyph of Finished Task. It was left to inform other Keepers that the Enforcers had finished a particular mission. Garrett slowly shook his head.  
Keeper Mcclay KNEW that Garrett possessed the ability to read such glyphs. He had no doubt ordered the Enforcer to leave this one, as a sign that the thief could trust him.  
Which of course, was the last thing Garrett was planning on doing.  
"Garrett? What is it? What do you see?" Gwenevere sniffed, wiping away the last of her tears.  
"We need to head back to the city. Tonight." He ignored her question and stood, his back to her.  
"Tonight?! But we don't even have a place to stay yet!" The nymph squawked.  
"That's what Sophie's safe house is for. Trust me; she'll be elated to see you." Garrett muttered, packing the last of his belongings into his dark green duffel bag. Then he began to undress. "Gwenevere, pass me that outfit over there."  
"What? This one?" Gwenevere cocked her head, seemingly examining the dark cotton jerkin and pants. The jerkin was belted in the center, and the pants were airy, yet semi-tight.  
"Yeah, that's the one. Hope it still fits..." He groaned, reaching for the pants. Gwenevere watched him dress. She had never even seen this outfit before. Garrett donned his hooded cloak and threw the cape back over his shoulder. "Basso claims that the watch is too flustered to pay me any heed at the moment, but I'm not taking any chances. I haven't worn this in almost twenty years; most of those young punks won't even recognize me."  
Gwenevere couldn't help but blush.  
"It looks very nice on you."  
"No time for pleasantries Gwenevere. We need to leave; now!" He snarled, his mind too focused and driven to accept her genuine compliment. "Grab the flower pots and Pilfur and let's get out of here!"  
The little nymph huffed, obviously put out by his blunt response.  
But she did not argue.


	7. Chapter 7

Her eyes softened with contentment as the water began to seep down into the soil of her three potted plants, but the rest of Gwenevere's face was extremely disheartened.  
Not a day went by that she did not feel guilty for abandoning her thief training. In her mind, she had failed Garrett.  
After six months, she had still been nothing more than a neophyte with an uncontainable violent streak.  
Gwenevere looked down as a sleek, smooth creature began weaving in and out between her stiff legs.  
Pilfur.  
He was nearly an adult cat now, his form longer and larger. He looked up at her through neon green eyes and mewed loudly in protest of the sudden move.  
"I know you don't want to go; neither do I. But Garrett says we have to." The nymph spoke sarcastically, more or less annoyed by thief circumstances.  
"We have to go, because someone has just tried to kill you Gwenevere." Garrett retorted, having been in the room the entire time. "How could you not have heard him coming? You nymphs have some of the best hearing around."  
"Probably because I've never been attuned to my surroundings..." She rolled her eyes.  
Garrett was taken aback by her snarky attitude. It was very out of character for her to be so uppity and cold, to say the least.  
"Sounds eerily familiar to something I told you once, back when you were still adamant about your training." He countered. "Why bring that up now?"  
She was hesitant to answer him for the longest while, instead securing the three pot plants into their own small burlap sack. After carefully pulling the mouth of the sack loosely closed over the last plant, she bent forward and began stroking Pilfur for much-needed consolement.  
It had been one hell of a night, and it was only going to get worse, once she told her thief the truth.  
"Garrett...the reason I gave up on my training. I-I realized that I was terrible at it. After over six months, I was still unable to take on a job by myself. That's inexcusable."  
Garrett was stunned into silence. His lips slowly parted and he gaped at the naive nymph. Her shimmering gaze was all that she faced him with, the rest of her face directed downward, and concealed by shadows. Her large eyes were extremely apologetic.  
Ashamed.  
He took a few weighty steps towards her, although when he reached her side, he was still unable to touch her. Instead, he looked down upon her discouraged form, emanating a telling presence that was strangely comforting to her.  
"You speak as though six months is a long time. Gwenevere, it took me years to get where I am today. Erin was under my instruction for six years, and she STILL has much to learn, as you are no doubt aware of. An apprenticeship isn't something that you can rush. It takes time, patience, and dedication."  
He finally knelt and took up her flustered face by the chin. His lips expanded into a genuine smile, eyes deep and warm.  
"You, did some incredible things out there Gwenevere. I still remember how clumsy and loud you were at the start, when you first came to me. Despite what you may have believed, you were improving. If your only reason for abandoning your training was due to thinking otherwise, then I strongly urge you to reconsider."  
"I-" She gulped down a wad of tension. "Garrett? You really think I have what it takes?" The thief chuckled.  
"I wouldn't have wasted my time teaching someone I knew didn't have it in them." He looked up at the ceiling with a lost expression. "I'm not like other thieves. It's not just that I'm better; I also won't do anything for gold. I have my standards. I make it a point to never take a job out of sentiment or to a lesser extent, bribery. Sure, I can still be bought; but even then there are several things I won't do. When I met you, some part of me must have at least been intrigued by you, known what you were, for me to accept Basso's request to train you."  
"But you just got through saying that I was clumsy and loud at first." Gwenevere craned her head ever so slightly.

"I'm no fool. Some part of me knew that you weren't just some noble's girl. After all, most women I've seen don't have pointy ears like you..." He chuckled."But at the time, I guess I blocked the facts into my subconscious. What you were didn't matter. I had been paid to teach you."

She blushed, touching her ears. They pricked slightly under her touch.

"That still doesn't explain why you wanted to; why you saw potential in me? I may have been a nymph, but I've been tamed and domesticated Garrett. I don't even know how to speak Pagan, let alone nymph, very well anymore..." She sniffed. "How can you rely on what I've lost to carry out any promises?"

Garrett fell silent again, until he began watching Pilfur. The cat leapt up to the window ledge where the three plants had been, and sniffed the dusty area.

"Not that I'm an expert on the matter, but from what I've read, a creatures' abilities become diluted upon domestication. Take cats for example. They can still hunt, still kill. But they've lost the strength and ferocity of their wild brethren. Perhaps, even without knowing your history, I sensed that you had the potential. Nymphs are experts at sneaking around, at disguise, at trickery. Just because you've changed, doesn't mean that you have completely lost yourself, Gwenevere."  
"But I have lost a good chunk of it..." She whispered.  
"And who says you can't find it again?" Gwenevere's eyes again welled up with tears, but of a different nature this time. She gasped as Garrett's rough fingers touched the wetness, then slowly traced the tear downward, around her fine cheekbones. "You can, and one day, you will. Trust me."  
"I'm sorry Garrett. After my time with the Growers, I lost myself even worse than before."  
"They really messed with your head, yeah." The thief smirked uncomfortably. "But now your mind is your own again, and the decision is yours to make regarding your future studies under my instruction." He kissed her forehead gently, almost awkwardly. "Whatever you decide, your value will not change, nor will your connection to me."  
"Connection?" Gwenevere stared up at him. Garrett smiled.  
"I told you before, you are not my apprentice anymore. I value you on a level much higher than that Gwenevere. Even if you aren't equal to me in terms of skill, I still regard you as my equal."  
"I...don't understand."  
"You don't have to." He shakily cupped his palm around her right cheek, just below her eye, staring longingly into her. Gwenevere did the same, putting her hand against his left cheek instead.  
Demonic green beast collided with metallic silver. Grassy knolls lined with gold plunged into the hazel gaze of a highly evolved survivalist.  
"I think I see it now." She whispered quietly.  
The thief answered her with only silence, far too busy traversing her soul to speak again.

"Garrett...I want to try again. Please teach me."

The train's steam wafted and danced through the damp, starless night. Both Garrett and Gwenevere were dressed in their thick hoods and cloaks; Pilfur and the three precious burlap sacks clutched tightly to the little nymph's chest. Garrett watched through adamant hawkeyes as the last of the midnight passengers exited the boxcar.  
"Let's go." He nodded.  
"'Kay." Gwenevere responded, dashing silently across the street.  
The thief watched her as she proceeded to board the cargo car, but abruptly felt a wave of uneasiness shake his core. His right eye swerved backward in its socket, unnaturally so, and Garrett growled under his breath upon seeing the lurking form.  
"I thought I told you to leave us alone." Keeper Mcclay emerged from the shadows with a slight chuckle.  
"So you knew it was me? You have better abilities than even I was made aware, which would mean that you also know about why she still lives."  
"The Enforcer, yeah. I got the message." Garrett snapped.  
Hearing this, Gwenevere spun around.  
"W-what's that?! Did he...did he...save me from that guy?!" Her large green and gold eyes grew lustrous and she took a step towards the shadowy figure just beyond where Garrett was standing.  
"No. He sent someone else to do the hard work. Keepers are notorious for doing that." Garrett remarked dryly, never letting his eyes leave that of Mcclay's.  
"It would seem that you have forgotten one of the greatest rules of balance, Garrett. Never take sides, never get involved." The thief rolled his eyes.  
"Wanna talk Keeper eh? Fine, I've got one for you; reliance upon others is equated with weakness. If you Keepers are so 'all-knowing', so 'all-powerful', then why not just do the job yourself?!" He countered. He took a few intimidating steps towards Keeper Mcclay.  
"Very good, young one." The elder smiled, clearly not fazed by Garrett's threatening demeanor in the slightest.  
"You like that huh? Well here's one of my own; I don't like being manipulated. I know from experience that your kind knows what's going to happen long before it ever sees the light of day. You knew she was in danger, and you just waited for him to come to kill her! THEN you sent in your little pawn and told them to leave a message that you KNEW only I could see, let alone read, so that I would trust you. That's low."  
"A thousand pardons, but does a thief really have any room to talk in terms of honor or righteousness?" Mcclay shot right back.  
"More that you Keepers." Garrett growled.  
"Garrett, I was only looking out for the girl. If I did something to upset you, I apologize."  
"Upset?!" The thief gaped. "No, upset doesn't even begin to cover it. And no, you weren't doing it for Gwenevere either; you did so to keep your precious glyphs from being wrong. You already told me that she has something to do with your little prophecy. So now you can add blatant lying to the list of things you need to 'apologize' for. Not that I would forgive you, or even care." He snorted.  
Keeper Mcclay fell silent. Garrett scoffed, shaking his head in smug accomplishment. But as he turned around to join Gwenevere and board the car, the old Keeper spoke.  
"You may just be right, Garrett. Perhaps I have lost my balance. For what I did for the girl, was due to much more than mere prophecy."  
"Yeah, well she's alive and well, so I guess you can scram Mcclay." Gwenevere gasped as she heard the name.  
"Wait Garrett!" Gwenevere held up her hand. Her eyes were now focused on Keeper Mcclay, hopeless and desperate. "You're...you're Keeper Mcclay?!" She was practically begging for him to respond. She had to know more about her lost childhood. And this man had many, if not all of the answers she sought.  
"I am. Good to see you alive and all grown up, young creature of the forest."  
"So Simmons did tell you..." Gwenevere murmured. "What was your part in all of this?!"  
"I will tell you all, if given the time. If your thief in the night will permit me." Mcclay's voice was raspy, like a deep creak.  
"Like hell I will!" Garrett snarled. "Gwenevere, we don't have time for this! Get on the train now!"  
Gwenevere locked eyes with the thief.  
"He might know something about my past! I can't just leave here without finding that out Garrett!"  
"Gwenevere. I know that this is very important to you, but surly there are other sources you can turn to. I don't like the idea of you getting involved with the Keepers."  
He braced his strong arms around her waist and lifted her up into the car. Gwenevere blushed wildly at the sudden suspended sensation, and she yipped as her bottom felt the cold iron of the boxcar floor.  
"Pleeeeassse Garrett?!" She begged, pressing both of her hands together and bringing them up to her pouty red lips.  
"Nope." He grunted, boarding the train.  
As it pulled off into the dreary night, Keeper Mcclay waved goodbye to the crestfallen nymph, her eyes dancing with moonlight.  
"Do not fret, child. I shall find you again. And when I do, all will be revealed."


	8. Chapter 8

UNKNOWN LOCATION  
SEVENTEEN YEARS AGO:  
Keeper Mcclay was consumed by a sickening despair. He slowly shook his head as his weathered eyes continued to read along towards the bottom of the letter. This Last Mother madness had gone too far. Not a moment of agonizing remorse went by, in which the aging man did not rue the foolish words that had left his lips.  
The legend that Sir Vladimir Simmons had taken far too seriously; with unspoken consequence.  
"What have I done!?" He whispered. Mcclay had reread the contents of that grim letter over and over within his mind, and he hadn't slept as a result. Said letter was now shaking violently between his trembling hands. He gasped upon noticing them.  
His nails were yellowed and sharp, the skin receded slightly around the thin bones.

These hands...

He had killed monsters with them, pressed them into a fellow Keeper to close his wounds.

These were hands that had kept such secrets safe in the past, forged mystical glyphs out of thin air and wielded powerful magic.

But such hands were now weak and useless to stop the hells a frightened young child had just been made to endure.  
His eyes slowly closed, the tribulation he felt pulling him down into an inescapable depression. Holding his head up to the empty white moon, Keeper Mcclay contemplated everything he was now hopelessly and helplessly responsible for. Dwelling on said matters caused his heart to warp ever more into a guilty, mutilated hollow.

But then...

Although his wisdom and training told him it was too risky, his heart refused to abide. Keeper Mcclay had been renegade from the rest of his group for some time now, and due to his loyalty and history within the order, they had granted him this; for the moment. He knew that eventually he would be forced to return to the order; lest the Enforcers take control of this most unorthodox of scenarios.

But for now, he was blessed with his own road. He could do whatever he wanted; regardless of what was considered important or not by his peers.

And he wanted to try and fix this. More than anything else, Mcclay wanted to help the little girl whose life he had inadvertently ruined.

There was only one way to atone for such morbid foolishness. With newfound zest and drive, the old man began lovingly writing his response:  
_Simmons, it won't be as easy as you may believe. A name is not enough. You, will need to convince everyone, beyond a shadow of a doubt that Gwenevere is your daughter. You'll need to come up with a birthday for her, past history, and most importantly, you will need to include her in your will..._  
He hesitated, breathing deeply before finishing his paragraph:  
_You'll also need to list a secondary caretaker for the girl, in the event that you should perish. And as a high-ranking member of the Mechanist Order, I would be more than happy to take up that yoke for you. Furthermore, I swear on my life to use the sacrificial blood of the Last Mother to restore you to life, should this happen._  
Mcclay frowned.  
Though these were blatant untruths, simply writing them was causing his head to ache even more. Honestly, he didn't even know if his plan would work. But he had to at least try and persuade Simmons into trusting him.  
He was well aware of just what was happening to the other Keepers, as well as the Hammerites via Heleana's Metal Beings, and Simmons' assassins. This ruse wouldn't just protect the captured Pagan child's life, but his as well.  
If Simmons believed him Mechanist, then he would be safe.  
He cared not for the money said status of the lord's will would bring him; he only wanted to save the girl. That innocent child who had lost everything due to a poorly executed slip of the tongue.  
While the Pagan genocide had been far from his fault; Keeper Mcclay blamed himself for the slaughter. If he hadn't been so careless with his books, then maybe...  
"None of that matters anymore. It is pointless to dwell in regret. One must learn from ones mistakes, and make proper amends. If I can give that poor child at least a chance at survival, however fleeting, that will be more than enough for me."

****************************************************  
THE CITY  
PRESENT DAY:  
The streets were muggy that evening, the bustling ambiance of the people throughout this iconic burg flooding the night with serene song. Garrett snorted as his eyes found and focused on the dilapidated shell of the clocktower.  
Nothing much had changed.  
He slyly watched Gwenevere hop out of the boxcar. The girl was obviously upset, no doubt about that. But as to why, the thief had no such clue. As far as he knew, Gwenevere had merely wanted to make nice with another stranger, a dangerous habit that he still had yet to wean her from.  
"Gwen-" He began, turning around. But she wasn't there anymore.  
Frantically, Garrett spun around, wondering just where the nymph could have gotten off to in such a small amount of time.  
He found her in a most unlikely place: Situated atop the train.  
Her palms were fastened to the steel roof of the boxcar, thick roots growing from her fingertips as she glowered down at him.  
"Gwenevere, what do you think you're doing up there?!"  
"I'm going back to Nethalzia; to find out more about Keeper Mcclay." She proclaimed.  
"What?! Why?"  
"Because I-"  
She stopped herself, suddenly remembering that she had yet to tell Garrett about the mysterious messenger, and his news of her new status.  
A status that she had absolutely no intention of accepting.  
His letter had also mentioned Keeper Mcclay, named sole heir to Gwenevere and all of Simmons' worldly possessions, should the lord die before Gwenevere's twentieth birthday. "-I can't tell you!"  
"This is no time to get all mysterious Gwenevere, we've got a job to do!" He snarled, fighting to keep his voice just audible enough for her sensitive nymph ears to hear him, which wasn't all too difficult.  
"Jobs jobs jobs! That's all you care about Garrett! What about me?! What about what I want?!"  
"What about it?" The thief griped, more out of impatience than insult. "You don't always get what you want, that should be apparent by now. Anyway, what's with the bratty attitude lately? I'd expect this from Erin, not you. Now come on and get down from there."  
"No!" She shouted, her eyes momentarily flashing brilliant crimson against the deep velvet sky.  
Garrett released a deep, perturbed groan.  
"Gwenevere. He's a Keeper, okay? If he wants to find you, to talk with you or whatever the taff he wanted, he'll do it. Trust me. Those Keepers are more relentless than a pack of hungry wolves."  
"You really think I'll see him again?" Gwenevere was soft again, hopeful.  
"Wouldn't doubt it. In fact, if he's like any of the Keepers I've met over the years, he's probably on his way here right now." The thief shot her a pensive glare. "Which would make returning to Nethlazia both a moot point, as well as a dangerous one. There is at least one person back there who wants to see you turned into wood nymph mulch, so unless you want to die..."  
"Fine. I'll get down." Gwenevere rolled her eyes and leapt off the train. Garrett's lips quirked upwards at the luster of childlike innocence written within her newly birthed green and gold irises. "You're sure I'll get to talk to him, right?"  
"Unfortunately yes. Though I still don't understand why you're so eager to do that." Garrett picked up his duffel and slung it over his shoulder with a grunt. Gwenevere gently plucked her precious belongings from the gravely ground of the train station and looked behind her for Pilfur. The cat was wandering around beneath a wooden bench.  
"Come on!" She encouraged her feline companion. The cat responded with a mix between a purr and a mew before trotting to her side.  
"Gwenevere?" Garrett asked as they proceeded to head towards the Crippled Burrick Tavern.  
"Yes?"  
"That wasn't a rhetorical question I just asked. Why do you want to talk to Keeper Mcclay so very badly?"  
He watched her as they walked, their boots making crunching noises as they pounded the loose gravel deeper into the tamed earth. She seemed like she was carrying a lot of unspoken anxiety, and Garrett didn't like that. Not one bit.  
"I..." She finally managed to reply, though her voice was low, almost fearful. "I'll tell you. But I want everyone to be there for the answer." Garrett ceased his pace and stared down at her. She met his confused expression with eyes of peridot essence; eyes that were obviously wild and deadly, yet also sweet and diligent.  
"Everyone?"  
"Why yes! Basso, Sophie and Erin all need to be there to hear this!"  
"And why is that?" The thief shook his head, genuinely lost.  
"Silly Garrett!" She giggled, resuming her stride.  
Garrett watched her walk on ahead, almost inquiring as to why she thought that to be so 'silly'. But a pair of patrolling guards quickly changed his mind, and he and Pilfur stealthily fell in behind the giddy little creature.  
Gwenevere's heart was positively dancing. She couldn't wait to see the rest of her city family once again.  
It was good to be home.


	9. Chapter 9

The Crippled Burrick was in its usual repugnant state when Garrett and Gwenevere waltzed inside.  
"Erm..." The thief began, looking across the large expanse of dimly lit tavern. "I don't see Basso at his usual table. He's probably down below again."  
Without waiting for her to respond, Garrett turned around and started back the way they'd come.  
He didn't want to remain within this crowded social establishment longer than he had to. Crowds and people were his ruby-haired companion's thing; not his.  
But as he walked off, a sudden tightness around his neck and shoulders stopped him. He looked over his shoulder and was mildly perturbed, as well as amused, to see Gwenevere with his cloak in her hand.  
"Yes?" He encouraged, toying the word around his tongue, expanding it.  
"I was just wondering...Basso doesn't know that I'm still alive, does he?"  
"No, thought I already told you that." Garrett grunted, seeing no good reason for her abrupt interruption.  
"Well, won't he be kinda mad at you?"  
"Basso never gets mad; not in the way most men in his position would. Sure, he spouts a few curse words, gets drunk and rants sometimes. And besides, what makes you think he'd be mad at me anyway?"  
"He thinks I'm dead. Won't he at least be surprised to see me?"  
"I'd be shocked if he wasn't." Garrett concluded, growing impatient with her. Gwenevere sighed hard. Clearly, her approach wasn't working.  
So she decided to get right to the point.  
"Garrett, why didn't you tell him that I made it through?"  
The thief finally turned around and stared unblinking into her lustrous green eyes. It didn't take him very long to spot the unyielding turmoil within.  
"Gwenevere, why is this so important to you? What's got you so worried?"  
"I may be a nymph, and furthermore, no expert on human beings." Gwenevere lowered her voice, leaning in closer to him as she spoke. "But do you honestly think that I don't know how he's going to react to this?! One does not simply come back from the dead only to be met by smiles and nods."  
Garrett exhaled through his nostrils, his lips forming a tight grimace around his gritted teeth.  
He knew she was right.  
He had been ignoring the obvious problems this scenario would present, merely due to the fact that the thief had absolutely no ideas on how to cope with them. After all, how did one cope with the recent events he'd witnessed? Gwenevere had died in his arms, her body reduced to little more than dried flower petals and seeds.  
Yet, now she stood before him; reborn and regrown as a beautiful wood nymph of joy and whimsy.  
As grateful as the thief was, he had no words to express said zest. No way to explain what had transpired on that fateful day in the forest. Furthermore, how could he possibly explain what had happened to Basso and the others? Truth be told, he was having enough trouble rationalizing the entire thing for himself.  
"He knows I only contact him for business, and as everyone in our little 'family circle' is blatantly aware, you aren't business to me Gwenevere." He managed a small, but very powerful smile, his left pupil expanding with a distant twinkle.  
"I know. I just don't want to give him a heart attack or anything." Gwenevere weakly joked. Garrett returned her laughter with a nervous chuckle of his own.  
"Nothing can kill Basso. Trust me."  
He touched her shoulder casually, so as not to attract any unwanted stares from the tavern's many patrons. The petite nymph looked up at him with a genuine understanding. She knew that these simple touches were far from what they appeared.  
"You're sure?" She asked, once more just to be safe.  
"Come on." Garrett smirked, turning around again.

As Garrett had expected, they found Basso inside his hovel below the tavern. The boxman was sitting hunched over his desk, smoking pipe clenched tightly between his teeth. His face was illuminated by the soft candlelight, as he ran a fat finger over the lettering of a fresh newspaper. He didn't even hear the thief as he entered swiftly through the window.  
"Anything interesting happening?" Garrett finally broke the silence. Basso yelped, jolting upright in his chair. Out of instinct, he grabbed for the first thing in reach to defend himself; which happened to be a slightly bent quill. Garrett chuckled, giving his friend an amused smile. "What are you gonna do with that? Tickle me to death?" Basso's tension melted into aggravated embarrassment upon noticing just who stood in the shadows before him.  
"I oughta stab ya with the tip fer scaring me like that! Christ Garrett! Ya could have told me you were comin' back tonight!"  
"Maybe if you weren't always up to something illicit, you wouldn't be so nervous." Garrett crossed his arms, his smirk unseeable in the darkness.  
"Yer one ta talk..." The boxman shook his head, standing. "Nearly made me swallow my pipe..." He grumbled. He put out his smoke and wet his thirsty lips with a swig of ale. "And fer your information, I ain't doing' nothing illegal. Not tonight anyhow..."  
"Just reading the paper?"  
"Yeah. Wasn't a crime last I checked. Things have gone ta shit since Lord Simmons went missing. People are sayin' he's dead, and now they think that..." Basso looked up sadly at Garrett. "Ah. Never mind."  
"What? What's the word?" Basso sighed hard. He really didn't want to go there tonight.  
He had seen how torn up the thief had been, following Gwenevere's funeral out in the forest. There had been a silent coldness within his eyes, a dark and dangerous stillness. Basso had known Garrett since his twenties, but never before had he seen anything so worrisome within his mate.  
For on that day, Garrett's expression had not been that of the antisocial and clever thief he'd come to know. It had begun to warp and distort into the empty visage of a true sociopath.  
Now he appeared to be back to his old self, whatever the reason. And Basso did not wish to antagonize that by bringing up Gwenevere again.  
"Nothing. It's nothing you should concern yourself with Garrett." The boxman approached him, his smile widening. "Forget all that I said. It's great ta have you back here."  
"Great to be back." The thief stared up at the ceiling.  
There was a moment of awkward silence, and Basso took another sip of his drink. That was when Gwenevere wandered in, tired of waiting outside. The boxman spat out his drink and gawked at her, wide-eyed. He glared from his pint to Gwenevere, then back again.  
Finally, he dramatically dropped the pint to the dirt floor and waved his hands out in front of his face.  
"That's it. I'm off the juice!" He proclaimed, shaking his head, eyes closed.  
"After all this time?" Garrett smirked, not yet aware of Gwenevere's entry.  
"Tch, after all this time I've never seen a hallucination of Gwenevere like that..." The boxman's voice was remorseful, laced with deep pain and unshed tears.  
"I'm not a hallucination!" Gwenevere giggled, cocking her head to the side with glee. Basso groaned and began rubbing his forehead.  
"Aw Christ...and now it's talking to me!" He moaned, starting to shake. He sat back down in his chair and held his head in his hands. "Poor kid. She never did a damn thing...not a damn thing..." His voice cracked slightly.  
Seeing the distraught state of his friend, Garrett heaved a discontented sigh. He came to Basso's side and put a strong hand on his shoulder.  
"Easy there Basso. It is Gwenevere. She's here right now." Basso shot up, his eyes slightly moist, but not enough for Garrett to tell if he had been crying or just on the verge. His thick eyebrows furrowed.  
"You're worse off than I thought..." He remarked in a low, serious tone.  
"It's true Basso! I'm right here!" Gwenevere comforted him. "Ya see? I'm a plant-based nymph, so when Garrett buried me, I was able to put down my seeds and regrow!" Basso shifted his position a bit at her words.  
"I don't understand how it works, but yeah. She's still here." Garrett concluded. The boxman's eyes narrowed and his face grew red.  
"Holy tapdancing frogbeasts Garrett! Nice of you ta tell me!" The boxman ranted with a snort.  
He stood and shoved his way past the thief to get to Gwenevere. Then, he gave her a tight bear hug. Garrett watched Gwenevere's eyes widen at this before she smiled softly and returned the gesture. "I'm glad you're alright kid. Ya scared the shit outta me!"  
"I'm sorry..." Gwenevere offered. Basso pulled away and glared over his shoulder at the speechless thief.  
"Don't be. You weren't the one who should have informed us."  
"Basso, I didn't think-" Garrett began.  
"-do you have ANY idea how this has been affecting Sophie?!" Basso stormed over to where Garrett's lanky form towered above him. "Gwenevere, is like a taffin' daughter to her! I know you don't give a rat's arse about my little sister, you made that apparent years ago! I also know that you're completely remiss of any social graces, but even a damned DOG would know that this was wrong!"  
Garrett didn't try to defend himself. He had been prepared for such backlash, and as such, he just stood there and stared blankly down at his enraged fence.  
"Basso, please don't be so upset." Gwenevere offered, causing him to turn around. "I-I'm here now..." She added, hopeful.  
Basso was silent for several moments, seemingly trying to decide how he should proceed. At last, he faced Garrett with a malicious grin.  
"Fine. But you'd just better prepare yourself. Once Sophie finds out that you kept this, yer ass is grass Garrett." He scoffed.


	10. Chapter 10

Sophie's apartment building echoed with the rumbles of storm clouds overhead.  
_Not another one! At this rate, we're all gonna taffin' drown!_ She groaned.  
It had been an unusually wet Summer indeed.  
**Rap! Rap!**  
Sophie sighed as she got out of her bed.  
_It's probably Erin in some sort of trouble again. Well, it's not as if she's waking me._  
The middle-aged woman threw her pink satin robe on, and started across the carpet.

But as she opened the front door of her home, Sophie's heart stopped cold. Before her stood Garrett, Basso, and a petite young woman whom she had never expected to see again within her mortal existence.  
Sophie felt her eyes widen and a sudden onslaught of tears caused her vision to become hazy and tilted. Powerful emotions and unending questions flooded both her mind and her heart like icy water.  
"Sophie? Are you alright?" Garrett was, oddly, the first to inquire as she began to sink to her knees.  
When she looked up at the tall thief, her world became fuzzy, but not from the shock of seeing Gwenevere standing there.  
It was clouded rage.  
Regaining her composure Sophie stood up straight and glared at him. She was more angry than she had ever been her entire life.

When the thief had turned away from her the morning following their encounter, she had been fine with it; eventually reasoning that it was for the best not to get involved with Garrett. When he had broken the heart of the innocent and loving Gwenevere over his own hypocrisy, she had been enraged, but even that fuse had fizzled out once the thief had made things right again.

But there was absolutely no excuse, nor apology that he could give her at that moment, for keeping Gwenevere's resurrection a secret.

Sophie had been beyond distraught following the girl's death. Thrust into a deep unyielding depression over the loss of her surrogate child. A depression that had nearly ended in her suicide.

"Sophie!"

Gwenevere rushed to embrace the older woman, but a firm hand found her shoulder, abruptly halting her. She looked up, her green eyes glassy and wide at Garrett's touch.

"Huh?" She asked her mentor, looking up at him.

But the thief wasn't focused on her at the moment. Instead, his eyes were interlocked with the devastating betrayal written upon Sophie's face.

"Sophie, I only didn't tell Basso in my letter because-"

The middle-aged woman, cut him off with a hard slap.

"-How dare you..." She hissed, taking in his stunned expression.  
"Sophie hey! Please calm-" Gwenevere began, reaching out to her.

But at that moment, the little nymph might as well have been invisible.

Because Sophie wasn't about to calm down.

"-Gwenevere made it through alright and you didn't think to tell us?!"  
"Sophie-"  
"-I don't want to hear another word outta you! You came and got the damned cat from me before going back to Nethalzia, and you didn't think to tell me?! Garrett, I know you're a maladjusted antisocial, but WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?"

She stood before him, her face heavy with heat and rage.

"Well?!" She demanded after several moments of the thief just staring at her.  
"You told me that you didn't want to hear another word." He finally grumbled.  
"Ya know Garrett, now might not be such a good time to be a smart ass." Basso chuckled over his smoking pipe.  
"You know what? I don't even give a damn anymore. You can get through your life being a maladjusted twat if that's what you really want. I'm just glad that she's alright."

With that, Sophie wrapped her arms tightly around Gwenevere, giving her a powerful and meaningful hug. Tears welled up in both of their eyes as they embraced.

The human mother and her adopted nymph daughter.

"You're grounded young lady. I'm keeping you here in my home; far away from that bad influence thief and my no good brother." Sophie remarked playfully, her voice still teary and loving.

"Okay Sophie..." Gwenevere nodded briskly, more or less aware that Sophie had indeed been kidding.

After releasing the little nymph from her grasp, she turned to the two men who were still waiting on her porch in the rainstorm. Sophie eventually motioned them both inside.

As Garrett entered last behind Basso, Sophie stepped in front of him.

"You and I. We have much to discuss."

"Gwenevere sweetheart, would you care to freshen up? I have a marvelous marble tub in the bathroom, and there should be an extra change of clothes in there as well." Sophie offered.  
"Ok, yeah sure."

Gwenevere grabbed up her things and exited the living room, eager to get clean once again. Garrett watched her retreat to the opposite room before taking his seat. The cushions sank ever so slightly under his weight as he reclined, and Sophie soon joined him.

"Let's get down to business while she's in the bath alright?" Sophie looked at both men.  
"Suits me." Garrett murmured.  
"Fine. So where are you two planning to stay?" She asked.  
"You've already extended an invitation to Gwenevere. I'll assume that includes me as well." The thief stated confidently.  
"And just what makes you think I'd even want you in my house after what you kept from me Garrett?"  
"Tch, I'm here now aren't I?"  
"Only because I didn't want to strangle you in front of Gwenevere, so don't press your luck." Sophie snarled.  
"She's not here now Sophie; you have something to say to me?" The thief's lips curled downwards, and his bi-colored eyes narrowed.  
"Indeed I do."

Sophie leaned forward, studying Garrett in a challenging manner. She knew this look; all too well.  
Basso continued to relax back against the cushy armchair, watching as his mate bravely dared to antagonize his little sister.

"How does she put up with you Garrett? Is it just a nymph thing, or is she just-"  
"-a nymph thing?!" The thief snorted. "Never would have pegged you as the racist type Sophie."  
"I'm not! I just don't think that any human woman could find it within themselves to forgive your aloof behavior..."  
"Sounds like you're speaking more from your own perspective then Gwenevere's." He chided her.  
"Well what the hell do you think?! She's pissed at you Garrett!" Basso added.  
"I can see that Basso..."  
"Fine, fine. While everyone's all worked up, I'm just gonna go ahead and get this off my chest. You do both know that Gwennie is supposed to be the next baron, er baroness, right?"

Garrett shot upright and locked eyes with the boxman.  
"What?!" He cried out, flabbergasted.  
"Yeah. That's what I was about ta tell ya, back at the hovel."  
"This is really bad..." The thief rubbed his aching temples with a long sigh. "How am I going to get her out of THIS mess? What am I even supposed to do?!"

"Well isn't it obvious?" Basso grinned, lifting a sloshing wine glass in Garrett's direction. "Ya move into the castle, that's whatcha do!"  
"Basso no! Gwenevere can't do that!" Sophie corrected.  
"Why the hell not?! If ya ask me, Gwennie'd be a fine baroness! She actually CARES about 'Mr.. and Misses Average Taffer', which is one hell of a step up from any other ruler the city's ever had, that's for damn sure!"  
"But she doesn't know the first thing about leadership!" Sophie countered.  
"Ooh! An' don't forget Soph! You and me; we're honorary family to the gal! I'd never have to work again! None of us would! That'd be the life right there!"  
He refilled his wine glass for the fifth time that evening. Sophie watched him worriedly.  
"Basso..."  
"Yeah! Can you imagine how incredible it would be?"  
"You're not listening to a word I'm saying are you?"  
"I mean...Drinkin' fine wine, meetin' uppercrust women and just layin' around doin' absolutely nothin' fer the restof my life..." He slurred.  
"Yeah, at Gwenevere's expense!" Sophie retorted.  
"Aww, the kid won't mind..."  
"Nope!" Garrett finally spoke up. "Forget it Basso. There is no way that Gwenevere is going to become the city's new leader. Someone in Nethalzia already tried to kill her; the last thing we need right now is for everyone to know just where she is and how they can get to her."  
"Well then, it seems to me that we need to come up with a plan to keep her safe!" Sophie exclaimed, the blood draining from her face at the thought of Gwenevere being hunted by some assassin.  
"My thoughts exactly." Garrett nodded.  
"Aww, see? You two CAN get along!" Basso chuckled. "Hey, ya know what? She needs a disguise! Why not have her dye her hair and we can go back ta tellin' folks that she's my cousin's mute daughter Bethany! That's a perfect-"  
"-No. No Basso. Even Orion wasn't fooled by that tripe. No one was." The thief crossed his arms.  
"Well gee, thanks!" Basso snorted.  
"Don't worry gents; we'll think of something!" Sophie intervened.

Garrett cast his gaze out the rain-soaked window once more. Translucent droplets of water played and danced upon the dirty grey glass, illuminated by the light of the moon.

_We'd better...no, we have to..._


	11. Chapter 11

_THE PAGAN WOOD_  
_SEVENTEEN YEARS AGO:_

_She shrieked._  
_The child had never seen fire like this before. Her world was illuminated by will-o-wisps, soothing earth magic, and the heavenly glow of the sun and moon. What little she had seen, was nothing like this. A blazing, infernal prison that consumed the trees and blocked her every path._  
_Screams flooded the night, accompanied by unnatural swooshing sounds as the combat bots stormed their way through the village. They continued blindly in their onslaught, crushing the budding plants beneath heavy iron feet, sending cannonballs of noxious, exploding rocks in the direction of a nearby home._  
_The young boy and his mother within both screamed horribly upon impact._  
_Then, silence._  
_The little girl shook violently, then dashed into the only haven she now clung to in light of her mother's death._  
_The forest._  
_But upon entry, several cloaked figures instantly surrounded her. Two men, and one woman. Or at least, the child perceived it as a woman. Her gait was stiff, and her amber eyes gleamed like two unnatural lanterns in the darkness. A few strands of straw blonde hair peeked past her hooded visage, as did the inhuman glimmer of metal when she grinned._  
_"The nymph's spawn." Muttered one of the looming figures._  
_"Quickly. Kill it!" Commanded the female, her voice unnaturally even and calm. Nodding, the figure to her left raised a heavy bronze mace above the baby nymph's head. She quivered, shoving a weak hand out in front of her in desperation. But she was still but a child, and the most power she could sustain exited her fingers in a fizzling show of green light. A few short twigs grew from her tiny fingers, but they merely snagged the thick fabric of her attackers cloaks. The child whimpered in terror upon seeing that her magic was still too weak to attack with._  
_Useless._  
_She collapsed to her knees, where she began to hopelessly sob as she shielded herself, awaiting the inevitable. At least soon, she would be wrapped tightly in her mother's branches again._  
_But a bludgeoning death did not follow. Instead, her attacker grunted, prompting the child to slowly open her large eyes of green and gold. The man toppled over at her feet._  
_Dead._  
_His two companions backed away slowly, as a forth man suddenly made himself known. In his hand, he held a blood stained bronze mace, larger than the one the girl had nearly been pulverized with. Fresh chunks of sticky blood and brain matter decorated the odd gear-shaped base of the weapon._  
_"Fool. I told you; I want to take the Last Mother alive." A deep, commanding voice resonated within the young child's elven ears. The man reattached the mace to a thick clip on his belt, then he bent down and held out his hand to her._  
_"Hey kid. Come with me. You don't want the bad men to get you, right?" A sinister grin found his parched lips._  
_The girl couldn't find it within her power to speak._  
_She just nodded her head of ruby red hair, and took the stranger's outstretched hand..._

*******************************************  
THE CITY  
PRESENT DAY:

Gwenevere frowned as the last of her sudsy bath ran down the iron drain of the tub. Wrapping her body in a fluffy towel, the nymph approached Sophie's cabinet and fished through it to retrieve a soft nightgown. In the living room, she could hear Garrett and the others talking; and from the sound of it, they seemed to be quite unhappy about something.  
She had barely finished dressing, when a faint tapping sound found the foggy window of the bathroom, startling her. Gwenevere whirled around and instinctively threw open the shutters. She scanned the damp city streets frantically, but whoever or whatever had disturbed her bath; they were gone now. At least, that was her initial conclusion. Just as she was about to close the window, a tiny creature hovered between her mouth and nose.  
It was a will o wisp.  
Gwenevere was more delighted than anything. She hadn't seen a wisp since leaving the Pagan wood, and that was years ago. Too elated to question the practicalities of this situation, let alone what a creature of nature and mystery was doing this far from its home, Gwenevere clapped her hands and giggled as the luminous orb bobbed and danced before her glittering green stare.  
"A friend? I never expected to see another one of you guys again, that's for sure!" The young woman addressed the dazzling alabaster creature.  
Then, in a shy, spectral tone, it spoke to her. It's words were so faint, that even her acute nymph ears had difficulty registering them.  
"Follow. The Conscripted One. He calls."  
"The whowhatnow?" Gwenevere squeaked, crumpling her soaked ruby hair between her fingertips. Her nails grew slightly longer at the water's refreshing touch.  
"Follow, follow!" The wisp refused to give her any more information as it dove down into the streets below, it's wild tail of starlight leaving behind a trail for the debating nymph. Gwenevere looked away from the window, back to the locked bathroom door.  
She knew she really shouldn't...but...  
Using her thick leafy vines as rope, the girl clambered down into the city streets. There, she withdrew, leaving the vines encasing the outside of Sophie's dwelling in a peculiar fashion. She looked around hopefully for the wisp, but it was gone. All that remained, was a nearly invisible trail of sparkle residue for her to follow. Which she did.  
Gwenevere followed the trail down towards the docks. There was an extreme abundance of pirates, beggars, and other shady-looking individuals loitering around, and she was beginning to seriously regret not traveling in more appropriate attire.  
_Maybe I should go back..._ She reasoned, looking down at the light green nightgown she had found in Sophie's bathroom cabinet.  
"Oi! Lookie what we've got here. You lost darlin'?" A gruff voice rang from behind the flustered nymph. Gwenevere frowned as she turned her gaze up to meet the two filthy humans approaching her at an uncomfortably quick pace. They were both dressed in soot-covered overalls, and from the wild lust radiating in their eyes, their intentions for Gwenevere were clear to her.  
"Back off. Now." She lowered her gaze and growled. The man nearest her made a face.  
"Ye'd better zip it girly, else we ain't gonna play so nice wich'ya!"  
"Bite me." She retorted. The men were both taken aback by her complete lack of fear. Never before had they encountered a woman like this. But little did they know, that it was no woman who stood before them now; but rather, a vivacious pagan beast.  
"Show us a little respect! You're already in deep trouble. C'mere!" He snapped, and made a mad lunge at Gwenevere's arm.  
But it found his neck first.  
Her nails grew thick and ligneous as they tightened around the lowlife's throat. Soon enough, he began gasping for air as thick bubbles of blood foamed from his mouth. The other man backed away in terror as the green embers of the nymph's eyes flared, and took on a hellish red.  
"Don't touch me..." She hissed, releasing the man. He was badly wounded, but alive. With clumsy desperation, his companion rushed to his side, taking in the unnatural wounds. He stared at Gwenevere, her hand saturated with fresh blood. His pupils dilated and he began to involuntarily tremble.  
"D-demon! You're a taffing demon, that's what you are!" He accused.  
Before she could respond, a hooded man intervened.  
"If this is what you believe, it would be safer for you to both hurry away." Gwenevere's ears twitched. The voice was older, wizened. Familiar.  
"W-who the hell are you?" The uninjured man demanded, still trying desperately to keep life within his companion. The figure's eyes narrowed as he stepped towards the two young men, and their bloodthirsty nymph attacker.  
"Someone you really don't want to provoke, young man. I'll ask this of you once again; please take your friend and be gone." The thug looked from his downed companion, to the feral nymph with her blazing red eyes, to the mysterious hooded figure who was telling him what to do. Normally, this would have been enough to make him take out his dagger and knife the newcomer. This was HIS turf; no one told him what to do! But tonight, the lowlife was feeling oddly hospitable.  
"Fine, whatever ya hellish freaks! Just leave us alone, will ya! Come on Craig; let's get outta here!"  
Gwenevere made sure that they were leaving for good before dropping her fearsome guise. She looked inquisitively up at the hooded man. Out of curiosity, she cocked her head like a confused puppy.  
"Who are you? Why does your voice sound so familiar; have we met?"  
"Three questions in a row! My, quite the busy mind you have child!" The older man chuckled, lowering his hood. His eyes were wise and intense. Gwenevere gasped. It was the Keeper whom she had seen in Nethalzia. The one she desperately wanted to talk with.  
"You're Keyper Mcclay! Garrett said you'd follow us."  
"Oh did he now?" Mcclay couldn't help but chuckle again. The elder held out a hand, and the wisp from earlier flew out from it's hiding place within his airy sleeves. Gwenevere's smile widened.  
"Hey! It's you!" She grew jovial, holding up a finger, which the tiny ball of light instantly swarmed. It bounced and swayed back and forth over her erect digit. "How did you get her to stay with you?" The nymph addressed Keeper Mcclay, never taking her eyes off the wisp as she did so.  
"I have unwritten histories with the Pagans, let's keep it at that for now child."  
"The Pagans? But...aren't you a Keyper?"  
"I am many things Gwenevere, as are you. You just have yet to realize your unspoken talents. That, is why I am here."  
"Oh no. You're not gonna try and make me the baroness are you?" She took an involuntary step backwards.  
"Nothing of the sort. Ruling is not your calling, despite what many believe. You, hold a much more free and beautiful purpose, Last Mother."  
Gwenevere rolled her eyes.  
"I'm not a goddess anymore, why would you call me that?!"  
"Because, according to my research, there is more to that title than leadership or power. And that is what I have come to speak with you about."  
"I don't get it. What more could I possibly be needed for?" Gwenevere asked, in such a way that the elderly man grew concerned over her self-worth.  
_Doesn't she see her own value? One would think she would know the value of skill and talent, given her mentor. It would seem we have much more to discuss than I initially thought._  
"Believe me child, you are extremely important. But to what end, still has yet to be decided. Will you allow me to explain?"  
"Sure!" Gwenevere laughed again, more jovial than she had been in weeks. Keeper Mcclay, smiled.  
"Then please, follow me. We must discuss these matters privately."


	12. Chapter 12

_SIMMONS SUMMER HOME_  
_TWO WEEKS AGO:_  
_"That little shit! She was never supposed to survive, let alone take MY seat of power!" Lady Simmons sent another glass vase shattering to the floor. Then she plopped down in a red velvet armchair with a huff. "Vladimir, you stupid bastard..."_  
_"Unfortunately Madam, it states right here in your late husbands will-" Timothy Woksworth started. Lady Lilithia jolted upright from her chair, nearly knocking it upon its side. She advanced upon the family attorney and grabbed violently at his collar._  
_"-I am the widow of the most powerful man in the city. There IS no such thing as unfortunate; not for me. I didn't spend the best years of my life in a loveless, political marriage because I found Vladimir attractive or charming. I did so for his money. So listen good you sniveling drip of a man; I want that money, and I want it now." She hissed. The young man's eyes widened as breathing grew difficult. He began to tremble madly within the confines of her tight grip._  
_"W-what exactly do you expect me to do?!" Lilithia's grip tightened. She glared deeply into the trembling man's eyes, and he cowered more as he felt her hot breath and taste her rage._  
_"Find her...find out where that frivolous weed has scampered off to. Then, report her whereabouts to Father Volkorn. He has many ways of dealing with Pagan garbage." Lady Simmons released her hands from Timothy's throat. He fell back into his seat, gasping for breath. Lady Lilithia turned away, looking over her shoulder once. Her dark brown eyes burned with danger and greed. "This is your last chance, Mr.. Woksworth. See that this little stain is cleaned up, or next time I shall be calling in someone to eradicate you both." _  
_"Yes Madam!"_

THE CITY  
PRESENT DAY:  
Keeper Mcclay watched the jovial little creature before him. His initial impressions of Gwenevere were not unlike most the young woman gave to the world around her. A carefree and gleeful child; who was completely out of her element here in the city slums. She laughed as the wisp began to encircle her, golden glitter dancing down to her feet from its incorporeal tail.  
"Come child. Walk with me. We have much to discuss." The ancient Keeper finally intervened. Gwenevere looked up from her game with the wisp and her smile lessened.  
"Oh. Well okay! Like what?" She came to his side, and she continued to look up into his firm expression as they walked away from the harbor and back into the city streets.  
"Are you not worried of being discovered, young Gwenevere? The city seeks you out as it's new leader, and yet you come out of your safe house with nary a disguise or thought."  
"Yes, because I saw a wisp. A creature that I haven't seen in years. And anyway, isn't that sort of YOUR doing?" She quipped.  
"I hadn't expected you to come running after my messenger in your nightgown, my dear." Mcclay glanced down at her with a slight grin. Gwenevere blushed wildly.  
"I...tend to get distracted easily." She began kicking a pebble across the street as they walked. It clicked and clacked each time it found the cobblestone. "Your people would see that as a serious weakness, I'll bet." She chirped, trying to make conversation.  
Trying to learn more about the man who had given her an unnoticed hope whilst she still remained locked within Simmons' demented clutches.  
"You refer to the Keepers, I assume. Yes, they tend to view any who lack balance and discipline as weak and foolhardy. Fortunately for the both of us, I am not of the same caliber."  
"But...you are a Keyper...aren't you?" Gwenevere was watching him now, brimming with keen interest.  
"The short answer is yes. The long answer...that may require more time." He grunted. "And by the way, I do not see you as weak Gwenevere."  
His latest statement caused her to halt. Why had Mcclay wanted to help her, to get her away from Simmons? A dark sensation nearly consumed her. Was this man perhaps even worse than Simmons? Did he too desire her exclusive nature magic? Gwenevere felt as her chest inflated with uncomfortable breath.  
_Maybe Garrett was right. Maybe I should have stayed away from you..._  
She stole another glance up at the wayward Keeper. Noticing this, he halted his progression and stared at her.  
"Is something the matter child?" There was a genuine concern laced around his words, his weathered eyes wise and kind.  
Gwenevere eyed him warily, her concern budding into tiny flames of fear within her stomach. At that moment it was decided that she needed to prepare herself, should the need arise to attack this stranger.  
Being away from the forest had the unfortunate effect of draining the strength of any wood nymph, and now that her goddess blood was gone, Gwenevere was no different. She needed to replenish what had been spent warding off the two ruffians from earlier, but there was very little that the city could offer her.  
Tiny, nearly unnoticeable roots began to form at her feet. They drew energy up from the covered earth, and what little nature mana there was beneath those dead streets quickly filled her body. What filled her wasn't even enough to replenish what she had used earlier. But it was something.  
"I guarantee you, young Gwenevere. If I wished you harm, you would have never returned to the city. Furthermore, I have already prevented another from taking your life. You obviously know about the hunter the Hammerite order sent to kill you, correct?"  
"Yes. But how do you know about that?" Gwenevere demanded. Garrett had taught her to be suspicious of strangers; a lesson that was ever so slowly sinking in for the girl. Although she still had a very long way to go.  
"I wanted to give you-" Mcclay started, but cleared his throat when he felt his voice begin to crack with guilt. He cast that same kind gaze in her direction again. Only this time, there was an unmistakable loss written within those eyes. "I made a terrible mistake child, and I did not wish you to suffer from said blunder. Let us leave it at that for now. Agreed?"  
Gwenevere sensed this genuine care, perhaps more than he wanted her to.  
"I believe you, Keyper Mcclay." She smiled, and retracted her roots from the stone. The older man gave her a warm nod.  
"I am both honored and elated, to have gained the trust of the last wood nymph on earth." He looked up at the torchlights, how they cast a welcoming orange sheen across the fork in the road. "My dwelling is to the north. Pray follow. We have much to discuss."  
"Can't you tell me on the way?" An eager Gwenevere asked, resuming her pace.  
"These matters are best left unspoken, unless within the sanctity of a darkened abode. I trust I have made myself clear?"  
"You have a secret to tell me, got it!" Gwenevere smirked.  
"A secret, and an invaluable request." Mcclay murmured.


	13. Chapter 13

It was raining that morning in Stonemarket; large drops of water were pounding into the grimy streets and dancing against the polluted sky. Few villagers were out that day. They were instead huddled in nooks and crannies around the alleyways, or finding other forms of comfort within the local tavern. Garrett was no exception. He had spent the day situated at Basso's table inside the Crippled Burrick, awaiting his contact.

"Damn it Gwenevere...when will you learn to sit still?" He grumbled beneath the confines of his airy hood. He ran a thin finger around the mouth of his pint, the contents of the letter she had left within Sophie's bathroom still fresh within his mind:

_Garrett Sophie Basso and Pilfur,_

_You'll never believe this! I spied a wisp outside the bathroom window! She was so cute that I decided to follow her! I'm fine, please don't come after me, you might scare her away! I'll be back soon, promise!_

_PS: I'm really sorry for making you worry Garrett!_

_-Gwenevere_

The thief rolled his eyes and huffed.

_Making me worry? For the past four months, that's all you've done Gwenevere..._

From behind, a headstrong female voice called out.

"Didn't expect to see you back here so soon." Garrett stood from the booth and approached his ex-apprentice.  
"Didn't plan on coming back so soon." He smiled."It's good to see you again, Erin." The thief looked down at her, being a few inches taller. Erin's dazzling blue eyes lit up, and she winked playfully.  
"So, how's Gwenevere? I heard from Basso that she made it through somehow. He seemed pretty pissed at you for not telling him." The two made their way across the tavern and took their seats at the bar. Erin waved for the bartender, who administered the assassin her usual brew.  
"No wonder he's not up here drinking himself today, knowing I'd be here." Garrett nodded. "Probably still miffed."  
"I've heard a rumor that some lowlife has made a bet that if anyone can keep Basso out of the Crippled Burrick for just one day, he'll pay them twenty silver just for breaking the trend." Erin laughed.  
"Hmm, seems I might be off to collect that money then." Garrett took a deep sip of his ale.

"But seriously, why are Sophie and Basso up your butt over this anyways? It's not as if anyone saw it coming! How were you supposed to know that Gwenevere would just regrow out of her grave like that; it's so weird..."  
"Weird or not, I'm glad she did."  
"I'm sure." Erin chugged down the rest of her drink. "And now she's run off to gods knows where. What do you see in her again?"  
"You know I won't discuss that with you Erin, why bother to ask?"  
"Just curious, since you call her an apprentice. If I did something like that, you'd set me straight."  
"And what makes you think I don't set Gwenevere on the right path when she makes a mistake huh?"  
"Well, for one thing, she keeps on doing it..." Erin chortled.  
"Nymphs are different than humans Erin. You have to be patient with them."  
"Translation: I can't be tough on her because I love her." The young woman mocked him.  
"That's a load of crap and you know it. I discipline my apprentices BECAUSE I love them. I don't want either of you to wind up dead."  
"Oh, is that all it is?" Erin shrugged nonchalantly. "Well in that case, I guess I'm just the better student then."  
"No one is arguing that. Why do you think I'm here?"  
"Because you missed me?" Erin teased.  
"Because I want your help, kid." Garrett replied solemnly. Erin nearly gasped. He had never asked her for help before. But then again, it had been several years since they had been this trusting, this close. And she was but a child then; completely unable to assist the man she idolized.  
"What sort of help do you need Garrett?" Erin asked, not an ounce of playful jest left in her tone. Much like her cerulean eyes, the young woman's voice had grown completely serious.  
"In my line of work, staying away from people is usually the idea. I have very little experience with the opposite. You on the other hand..." The thief released an unsteady heated sigh. He still did not approve of his waif's occupation as an assassin. "...well, it's kind of in your job description."  
"Garrett, I know your pissed at her. But do you really want me to knife her for you?" Erin looked him up and down in disbelief. Garrett's eyes flew open and his pupils contracted almost completely. He leapt back at her accusation.  
"WHAT?! NO! No, I want you to help me track her...find out where she is...Geez Erin..." He rubbed his temples. Erin watched his sporadic shift in mood, and grinned as the thief put back another pint.  
"You okay?" She offered, still grinning. Garrett released a refreshed sigh and wiped his lips.  
"You really sure you want to help Erin?" He returned her question with one of his own instead of answering.  
"Yeah, of course I do. Why wouldn't I be?"  
"Because you seem to have a serious issue with Gwenevere." He remarked.  
The young woman looked back down at her drink and began tracing the coaster with her black painted fingernails. As expected, there was a decal of a burrick emblazoned onto the cork, although the creature didn't appear to be crippled in any way. Rather inebriated, but not injured. Erin grinned.  
Clever.  
Being drunk could also impair a person, or in this case, a burrick from walking. Hence the tavern's name. She almost felt silly to have never noticed this before.  
"Erin?" Garrett prompted her. Erin snapped out of her private thoughts and looked up at him.  
"She's just odd. It already bothers me that you would want to have a relationship at all; but with a wood nymph? I-I'm not trying to sound racist, but why? She hardly seems your type."  
"To be completely honest Erin, I'm not sure I even have a type. You usually have to be interested in other people before you can relate to them, and in turn, discover how they relate to you. I never have been."  
"Is that why you chose her? Because she's not human?"  
Garrett sighed, abruptly breaking eye contact from her inquisitive stare. His history with nymph lust went further back than he wanted Erin to know. Even if she was his charge, it was none of her business.  
"I don't know. Perhaps." Was all he answered her with. Erin looked at him through wondering, curious eyes for several more minutes. Her lips were lightly agape, as if about to say something in response. But such words never came. Instead, she decided it wise to drop the matter entirely.  
"Welp!" She groaned, standing from the bar. "It really doesn't matter if I like her or not. You need me, and I'm here. So shall we go somewhere more private to think up a plan?" She offered with a genuine smile. Garrett, returned the gesture.  
"Yeah."


	14. Chapter 14

_"No! Please don't-" Gwenevere's words were sliced clean through before she could finish. Much like the neck of the small ruby-haired toddler at Lord Vladimir Simmons' feet. The repulsive, horrific sight of the child's head rolling across the ground made the young woman want to vomit. Her mind was spinning within an ungulating torrent of unanswerable questions. As she stood there, sickened and petrified, her listless head was also drenching the grassy earth in innocent blood. The nymph was helpless. She stared, her eyes trembling with deep remorse and emotion as they dove deep into the fading irises of her younger self. Gwenevere began sobbing. Immediately the forest went quiet. _  
_With an air of unspeakable malice, Simmons turned his gaze up to meet the distraught young woman. _  
_"I should have never let you live..."_  
_Before she could return his torment with bladed tongue, Simmons suddenly lurched forward. Gwenevere gasped when she noticed thick branches protruding from his impaled, dying body. The bark was thick and dark, and grew ever more wild and twisted as the roots found and feasted upon the lord's blood. _  
_Gwenevere felt her own bodily fluids run cold._  
_It was her mother._  
_Viktoria snarled as she withdrew her coils from a now limp and pale Simmons. Gwenevere didn't even want to look down at him, even after what she had just seen him do. If there was one part of her mother that frightened her, it was the way she always left her prey to writhe after she was finished feeding._  
_Unfortunately for Gwenevere, her parent spoke first. She wasn't the comforting maternal creature that the young woman remembered. Within the confines of this dreamscape, the woodland lady was furious at her spawn. But as to why that was, Gwenevere had only to guess. _  
_"It would have been this simple, for you to escape. Yet you allowed him to live out of your blind adoration of the human race." She hissed. "This was NOT the reason you were created!"_  
_Before Gwenevere could offer a response, a dark force grabbed at her from behind. The moment she felt it's icy fingers upon her flesh, Gwenevere knew exactly what it was that had pulled her back. _  
_Or rather, whom._  
_Demon magic now penetrated her skin and coursed its way down into her unguarded heart as Gwenevere stared unblinking up into the eyes of the Trickster Himself._  
_"Last Mother. I demand that you appease your numerous transgressions with a blood sacrifice. Slay the manfool who undid so much from my promised domain. My world." He grabbed her again, until green, sticky sap found his fingers and trickled down both of her arms. Gwenevere cried out for her mother. But Viktoria stood silently, leering apathetically at the young girl's punishment._  
_"It is fruitless child. Unlike you, she is subservient and loyal to the Woodsie Lord." _  
_With that, the Trickster slammed her down hard against the forest floor. He towered above her now, close enough to hear his drumming heartbeat, taste his foul stench of fermented vegetation. His eyes, darker than the abyss of hell itself tore through her own of swirling splendor. Gwenevere, refused to blink._  
_"You dare defy me? So be it." He released her, ripping his claws from her extremities. Gwenevere shouted, but did not falter in her resistance. _  
_"I'm no longer a goddess, and I never considered myself a Pagan in any sense of the word. I have been reborn, thanks to Garrett. And I shall never do your will again!" She proclaimed, still looking her forebear dead in the eyes. The malevolent god howled with macabre laugher. _  
_"My spirit still resides within this world, though my corporeal form can never return. If I need to possess you in order to finish what needs to be done, I shall. There will be no mistakes, and I shall grant you no quarter. You are a Trickster's Maiden, like your mother. Like all the rest. You are mine to do with as I like."_  
_Gwenevere tried to run as the Trickster's disfigured form advanced upon her; but it was useless. The forest god once again pinned her to the forest floor. Only this time, his face contorted into the most horrific smile that she had ever seen. _  
_"Naughty little nymph..." He hissed. Gwenevere shrieked as he injected his toxic claws deep into her neck. The horrific feeling of his dark magic resonated throughout her entire body, causing her to helplessly spasm. _  
_After a grueling ten minutes of this, the demon god abruptly stopped. He withdrew his claws from her neck in a swift upwards motion, causing her to gasp for air. Then, the Trickster, ancient god of nature and chaos, silently stared into her eyes. That's when he realized the obvious. _  
_Whether it was through domestication or the unnatural, undying loyalties she had sworn unto a mortal man, this rancid little nymph...she was no longer one of his. _  
_He could only possess and take wild nymphs and other loyal denizens of his wood to do his bidding. But Gwenevere no longer belonged to the forest, and she hadn't for some time. Simmons had severed her roots long ago. _  
_The Trickster snarled._  
_The Last Mother, was now utterly meaningless._  
_"Insufferable worm. Never before have I encountered a life form less than mankind." He spat in her face, coating her cheek with thick green mucus. "Your life isn't even valuable enough to take..."_  
_Now free, Gwenevere shakily stood. She backed away from the still lurking demon, and instead turned to face her mother. Viktoria grumbled curses in ancient nymph, violently turning her head away from her spawn's line of sight._  
_"M-mother?" Gwenevere began. "M-"_  
_"GET OUT!" The wood nymph screeched. _  
_"Mother! What are you saying?!" Gwenevere pleaded, her eyes watery and burning. _  
_Viktoria remained still, her eyes blazing crimson with unspeakable disappointment. She spoke one final sentence, but it was so vile and cruel, that Gwenevere knew she would never forget the words._  
_"May he keep you in the knowledge that you are the most worthless being to have ever existed." _  
_Before Gwenevere's tormented mind could even think to register upon such words, a gust of powerful wind cast her backwards and out from the realms of this nightmare. _  
_Back into the warm confines of her bed._

She awoke sweating, crying, and shaking uncontrollably. Her eyes widened while her mind fought to register on just where she was. And it didn't take too long for her to remember. Keeper Mcclay had taken her to a shack on the east side of the city. This unassuming building led deep underground, into a network of old mining tunnels.  
From the etchings on the walls and the faint scent of spicy residue in the air around her, Gwenevere easily determined that these same tunnels were once occupied by Pagans. A shiver traveled down her spine at the thought of her people. Her most recent of nightmare.  
Her own mother had told her that she was the most worthless being to ever exist...what witchery was this?! Even at her most angered or disappointed, Gwenevere knew her mother would never say such unforgivable words to her. But in spite of that, the memory still caused her to hurt.  
Abruptly, the young woman whirled around upon hearing footsteps come to a halt behind her bed. Keeper Mcclay stood just outside of the sleeping area, his hand firmly planted against one of the beams in the tunnel's foundation.  
"The thief has taught you well, it would seem." He chuckled.  
"Oh, he hasn't really taught me that much. I kinda..." Gwenevere sighed, rising from the bed. "...I gave up on my training. Anyway, you didn't wake me up, Keyper Mcclay. I...I had a bad dream."  
"Oh? Care to indulge me?" Gwenevere took a step back, horrified.  
"What?! I-I couldn't possibly eat you Mr.. Keyper man; you've been so very kind to me! A-and besides, I haven't eaten human flesh since before Simmons kidnapped me and-"  
"-Tranquility child. Ease your weathered mind." Mcclay smiled softly.  
"Oh..." Gwenevere took a deep breath, trying to clear her thoughts of the troublesome nightmare. "I..I thought you meant something else."  
"So I see." He approached her. One look into her darkened expression, and the elder concluded that whatever had just plagued the girl's dreamscape was beyond disturbing for her. Thus, he decided not to press the matter. "Gwenevere, it is time I made my intentions clear. You see, I would like to ask your help." The little nymph managed to pull herself out of the murky recesses of her mind momentarily at the Keeper's plea.  
"My help? What do you want me to do for you?"  
"My, so eager to assist!" Mcclay grew jovial. "I must admit, I did not expect you to be so forthcoming, my dear. Your people tend to be much more...elusive."  
"I've been trying to overcome my shyness actually. Garrett says that there are more important things than being comfortable with people. I think he meant to deter me from getting close to others when he said that."  
"Yet instead you overcome your shyness by defying his advice. Interesting indeed."  
"Yeah, I defy him a lot." Gwenevere giggled. "I don't mean to, but he just has so many rules! Did he learn that from you guys?"  
"Gwenevere, you must understand that not all Keepers are universally linked. I did not personally know Garrett. He is merely well-documented within my order."  
"Huh." She bit her bottom lip. "That's odd. Most Pagans know one another; we had clan get-togethers every Summer Solstice and everything!"  
"Be that as it may child, I am afraid that I cannot answer that question for you."  
"Okay." She smirked playfully, delighting in his over explanations. Mcclay continued.  
"Gwenevere, my role with the Keepers is more complex than I fear either you nor Garrett have realized. You see, I am more...shall we say, well-traveled than the others. I am a bookhunter of sorts. My job within the order is to venture abroad to find and recover ancient tomes for the interpreter to decipher. This world is a vast palette of knowledge, unfortunately, most of it still remains well hidden."  
"Oh, I see! So you're like what; a treasure hunter?"  
"More or less. To us Keepers, knowledge is this world's greatest of treasures." Mcclay nodded.  
"So, where do I fit into this little excursion fo yours?" Gwenevere inquired, Garrett's cynical attitude temporarily coating her tone.  
"Well, as previously stated, I am currently on a quest to find and recover lost tomes, and I do have a few in my possession. Written in ancient nymph. Unfortunately, even our best interpreters cannot read nymph. You, on the other hand..." He looked Gwenevere up and down expectantly.  
Gwenevere felt her stomach grow sour.  
"Yes. I can read it, and I can write it. But I cannot speak it for you. I really wish I could."  
"Could you merely write it down for me instead?" Mcclay suggested. Gwenevere's green eyes grew luminous upon his suggestion.  
"Of course I can! You're brilliant!" She cheered.  
"Thank you, but like everyone else in this world, I still have much to learn. But your compliment does indeed touch me." He smiled. "Does this mean you shall assist? I would gladly repay you. Just name your price, young Gwenevere."  
The little nymph pondered his words. Before long, her mind registered on the pentagon-shaped talisman that Garrett had gifted her with after her first successful training mission. She reached under the neckline of her nightgown and retrieved the object. Mcclay's eyes grew intense upon spotting the Memory Keeper.  
"This. Can you help me use it properly? I wish to know what happened in my past, who I am. The Memory Keeper knows the answer."  
The older man saw the desperation within her now, feeling her inner turmoil as if it were the inner minglings of glyph magic preparing to leave his fingertips. Such an innocent desire nearly caused him to shudder.  
Knowledge was one thing to ask as a reward, but a forgotten memory...  
Her life had been raped from conscious thought, and this was all his fault.  
Mcclay blinked away a few impending tears, hiding his inner unrest from her the best he could. Reaching for the girl, he planted a firm arm gently around her shoulders. It shook slightly, prompting Gwenevere to look up at him, hopeful to what his answer would be.  
"Of course I will. We can work together Gwenevere. I can help you rediscover yourself, and you in turn can return forgotten knowledge to our world."  
She smiled. That sounded like a fine arrangement.  
But Keeper Mcclay remained troubled.


	15. Chapter 15

The Keeper and the wood nymph basked in the shelter of evenings embrace. They were sitting upon a fallen log just outside of the mining tunnels. The night was crisp and unseasonably clear for early summer. Gwenevere giggled, the gold in her eyes gleaming in time to that of the fireflies that sparkled just beyond her nose. She looked crosseyed at one as it landed atop the tip.  
The Keeper only watched on in bitter silence. There was an odd melody in the air that night, and from the muffled softness of its notes, the older man knew that it had to be coming from just beyond the city walls.  
From within the forest.  
_They still call for her. They want her back. But to what end?_  
Mcclay looked back at the little, oblivious nymph. Such grand titles had been bestowed upon this seemingly innocent maiden. From the moment of her birth, greatness had been expected, nay, demanded. The Trickster's plan had been ominous enough, but with the rise of his second, there would surely have been no way to overturn his foul plans.  
This thought, in combination with Gwenevere's plea to regain her memories, left Keeper Mcclay wondering how little the girl actually did know. Did she, for example, know that the human she had devoted her mortal existence to, had slain her father? Or that someday the forest would indefinitely pry her away to a place where not even a Master Thief could possibly hope to reclaim her?  
The older man emitted a cold sigh. He removed his hood, revealing a balding head of silver-brown hair.  
"Oh! It's you again!" Gwenevere's sudden voice caused him to avert his eyes from the luster of stars and thin cloud tapestries overhead. He glanced over at the young woman. The wisp was with her again, swaying in a forgotten rhythm with the smaller fireflies. Gwenevere closed her eyes, and began bobbing her head back and forth, as if hearing a song that only she and the tiny beings knew. Mcclay listened to the distant echoes of song again.  
Perhaps, they did.  
"Keyper Mcclay?"  
"Yes child?"  
"She tells me that you treat her well, that she has been your companion for a very long time." The elder shot a bemused look towards the ball of light darting playfully just above Gwenevere's head. He smiled ever so slightly.  
"Oh did she? Alma, you mischievous girl..." He chuckled. Gwenevere looked up at the wisp.  
"Alma? Did you name her that?"  
"No. She told me her name. A very long time ago." The little nymph became gleeful, completely missing the hint of sadness within Mcclay's voice.  
"Wow, that's so neat! You can talk to creatures too? I didn't know Keypers could do that!"  
"They cannot." Mcclay retorted, more coldly than he would have liked. For this was the first living soul whom he had discussed Alma with. Or anything pertaining to any of this. Even his squire, Tobias, knew nothing of his involvement with the Pagans. Or how far back it ran.  
"Keyper Mcclay?" Gwenevere crooked her head, afraid that she might have said something to offend.  
"Back in my youth, I was conscripted by the Pagans to continue the partnership that my great-grandfather began with them. Needless to say, three generations later, they weren't asking me. They were forcing me. Regardless, I did oblige with very little prodding on their part."  
"Is that why Alma called you the conscripted one?"  
"My Alma, you certainly are quite the little chatterbox. I never would have expected..." His eyes grew moist as he stopped abruptly. Gwenevere leaned forward, craning her neck upward to get a better look at his expression. It was extremely pained, but she still had no idea as to why this might be.  
"Hey, are you gonna be okay?" She finally asked after several minutes of the elder fighting to retain some form of dignity.  
It was out of the question for him to cry in front of her. Keepers were a symbol of discipline. Of balance. Of knowledge. Wiping the wrinkled corners of his sagging eyelids, Mcclay feigned a weak smile.  
"Yes, thank you child. Yes, that would be why she called me that. You see, I share lineage to the Great Keeper who helped the Pagans of old understand what the Primal Stone was used for. What powers it had, as well as that of the tattered glyphs. Secrets of the natural world that only such a team could ever hope to decipher. I am now secretly affiliated with both the Keepers and the Pagans as a result. Luckily, the other Keepers shall never hear of my involvement outside of the order. My connections to the Vine serve to shroud the truth, and keep me safe. Not to mention that I tend to spend most of my time very far separated from the others. For the most part."  
"Huh? Oh, Alma you mean?" Gwenevere smirked.  
"No, not just she. Tobias!" At the call of his teacher, a young gangly man emerged from the mining tunnels.  
"Yes Keeper Mcclay? Are you indeed prepared to partake in dinner?"  
"No need to speak Keeper with me boy. We have guests this eve!" Mcclay spoke warmly, all recent hints of his inner turmoil temporarily diminished. He motioned to the spot on the log beside him, where a curious Gwenevere sat. Tobias leaned to the side to see just who his master was pointing to. Given her petite stature and Mcclay's roomy vestments, Gwenevere had remained unnoticed.  
"Gwenevere, this is Tobias. He is my squire. Tobias, this is Gwenevere. The one we have been sent to find." He winked at the lad. Tobias grew very pale.  
"T-then she's a...she's a..."  
"A very sweet and enchanting young lady. Replace fear with respect and you two shall get along quite nicely. Remember Tobias, fears serve only as warnings, and that which they warn us of can be overcome or avoided altogether."  
"Y-yes Keeper Mcclay..." Tobias stuttered, still frantic over Gwenevere's mere presence. Even without any of her deadly powers being unleashed, the young man had heard enough about nymphs to dread her immensely.  
However, he was soon to be rethinking his initial impressions towards her.  
Gwenevere practically laughed as she shot up from the log. Tobias yelped as she reached his side with the speed and agility of a wild animal. His left foot snagged upon a tree root, sending him crashing down to the moist earth. Gwenevere gripped the sides of her nightgown and gave him a slight curtsey. Then, she extended her hand to assist the flustered man back to his feet.  
"Hi Tobias! I'm Gwenevere, but you can just call me Gwennie! Nice to meet'cha!"  
"N-nice to meet you...Gwennie..." Tobias whined, obviously still very shaken. He chanced a look at Keeper Mcclay out of the corner of his eye. The Keeper was staring directly at his squire, shaking his head in disappointed embarrassment. Tobias lowered his own head with a silent huff.  
"So, are you a Keyper too?" The nymph inquired, getting him to look at her again.  
"N-no...I'm...I'm Keeper Mcclay's squire. I do many things for him. I cook for him, clean, and in exchange he teaches me how to use magic." Gwenevere's eyes lit up.  
"You can do magic too?!" She gasped.  
"Why yes...why do you ask?" Tobias took an uncomfortable step away from the hyperactive creature.  
"Because...SO CAN I!" Gwenevere shrieked, spinning on her heels in the moonlight.  
She was flooded with joy at the news of more magic still existing within this dying world. Such news had triggered something deep within her soul; something that she could never hope to reject.  
She turned her head up to the heavens, feeling as the moonlight illuminated across her pale flesh. The nymph's eyes flew open, her pupils dilating as heaven's light surged through her. Flowing through her veins like crystalline wonder. Purging her soul like a holy flame.

The music from within the forest, grew louder.


	16. Chapter 16

The dying twilight tinted by stained glass highlighted the outline of a tall red-robed man. His body was stiff, devoted in its every intent. This man had known diligence, and he had known it very well. His hair was brushed back, but a few stubborn strands of oily grey sprouted up from the sides of his wrinkled brow. His frown was deep, nearly buried beneath a heavy layer of wrinkles as it adorned his pale cracked lips.  
"Lady Lilithia asks too much of you, dear boy." He spoke in a raspy voice which resonated with the slightest hint of cruel mockery. His fingers tightened around the hands he held behind his back until the digits turned white within his firm, angry grasp. He looked over his shoulder at the unsure young man and hissed. "And of I. It is not my job to resolve her legal blunders."  
"Revered High Priest, I assure you...m'lady merely wants what she deserves! You knew Simmons, back in his youth. Surely in your power and position you may be allowed to-" Timothy Woksworth's plea was slashed clean through by sudden, harsh laughter.  
"What she deserves!" The Hammerite High Priest threw his head back, the last of the sun's dying reflection eclipsing his profile and crazed expression. Unnaturally so, his attitude shifted from bemused, to deeply solemn. "Isn't that always the way it is?"  
"Father Volkorn?" Woksworth crooked his head, clutching his wooden mask tightly with both hands.  
Father Volkorn began pacing before the window, his hands still interlocked behind his back. He watched as the blood red carpet of the cathedral darkened beneath the shadow of his tall form.  
"Those who are well off have always seen themselves as entitled, merely for the reason of money. Surely this was the reason she sent you? Out of some tirade only she could find any weight in. The widow is more than well funded. Greed, is the only thing that spurs her to pursue this now. That, and perhaps power lust."  
"Her ladyship is the rightful baroness in her husband's absence! Without a ruler, what's to become of the city?"  
"Fool! This city has seen far worse and gotten through. In case you and the woman you've sworn to prattle for have yet to notice, there is a war upon us."  
"Yes, Father Volkorn. We both know."  
"Yet you persist? Very well. Young man, I cannot overturn what Lord Simmons has decreed. Mine would be only the first of several signatures needed to reverse his will, and half of those people are on the other side of the world or dead."  
"But-"  
"-If she wishes this title so badly, she will need to get a surrender letter sighed by the rightful beneficiary." The elder glanced over his shoulder and grinned. "You are an attorney. You should have known this much."  
"I-I did. Unfortunately, m'lady was hoping that you could overturn this without involving Gwenevere."  
"Is that what the creature calls itself now?" Volkorn muttered, staring up at the ceiling.  
"Well, Gwenevere 'Taffer', to be precise in what she told me..." Woksworth smiled weakly.  
"Quite curious. Unfortunately, the term is nowhere near strong enough to describe the ilk of a rotted false god. The Last Mother, is beyond any such words. As are all Pagans."  
The High Priest stared out of the large stained glass window again. The sun had nearly disappeared into the forests that surrounded the city. Almost as if those befouled woods were trying to engulf the entirety.  
"I shall not lie, young Woksworth. The very idea of such a title being left in the hands of a Pagan both repulses and terrifies me. But to think that it was left to that beast..." A visible chill raced down his spine. He shook, but then straightened his posture. "For reasons unknown, the Builder's Sword was discovered shattered outside of the factory district, covered in the tainted blood of a Pagan Deity. Though we are still unsure how this happened, nor the name of the magnificent saint who bravely engaged her, we are now certain that the status of 'deity' has left her. She is now mortal, and as such we have not hesitated to strike. We have sent a hunter to slay her where she resides in rural Nethalzia. However, no word of his success has reached our ears yet."  
"Father, while it is indeed true that Simmons left all of his wealth to her, might I bring up that Gwenevere is of no blood relation to the deceased lord. " The young man smiled in a disturbed manner. "Besides, I think we both are fully aware of why this was done in the first place." Father Volkorn turned away.  
"Indeed. There is not a high-ranking priest or supporter of our faith who has not heard the tale of Lord Simmons and his dances with fire. Tis true; I knew him in my youth; and for many a year after."  
Father Volkorn began pacing again, stopping once to glare at the now quaking messenger.  
"But that was before he resorted to heresy, to the side of that crazed lunatic Karras. Before he became obsessed with the dark legend of the Last Mother Ritual, and what it would inevitably do for him."  
"B-but surely, even a powerful and wise man such as Simmons could make a few mistakes?" Woksworth offered.  
The room was nearly dark now, lit only by the persistent, hungry fireplace on the far side of the priest's chamber. It's flames added an air of sinister tension between the two men, and this only worsened for Woksworth when he caught the malice in Father Volkorn's stare.  
"Wise? Hardly. Simmons was a fool. He wrote away his fortune in a last ditch attempt to fool the world into thinking that a Pagan abomination was his daughter. In his haste to follow within the footsteps of a child's fairy tale, he forever slandered his name, and there are no longer any Mechanists about to think otherwise."  
"We appear to be getting off topic. So, can you assist m'lady?" Woksworth persisted.  
"Lady Lilithia should have known better than to ask. After all, she should be used to pestilence..." Father Volkorn's eyes widened with the slightest glint of madness upon eyeing the wooden mask clutched within the messenger's trembling hands.  
"What is that?" He inquired, pointing a withered finger at the headwear. As if nearly forgetting what it was he clung so dearly to, the young man looked down at the wooden article.  
It was a beautiful piece of craftsmanship, made to cover the forehead and eyes, ending just over the bridge of the wearers nose in a pointed, beaklike tip. The sides were carved to resemble the feathers of a great bird, and the entire mask was painted a soft tan.  
"Oh this? I-it belonged to my grandfather." Woksworth shrugged.  
"Indeed." The elder spoke in a low, almost uninterested tone. Although the look on his face told a very different story.  
Father Volkorn was now fully transfixed upon that mask. Lady Lilithia's demands, the persistence of her messenger. Even the thought of a wood nymph gaining unimagined power over the world he lived in, had all but quietly exited his mind. And within the shaded recesses of that place, that world of hypocrisy and twisted benevolence, a spark began to glimmer and grow.  
"Father Volkorn? I met with Gwenevere. She seemed a nice girl, and furthermore not at all interested within the fortune of the will. Perhaps...well, perhaps she could be persuaded to sign said fortune back to m'lady. Perhaps there is no need to complicate matters at all." Woksworth noted.  
The room was deathly silent for several moments, until the high priest's lips suddenly twitched upwards.  
That sealed it in his mind.  
No loyal follower of the Builder and his work could ever call that insidious she-demon 'nice', nor personify her in any sense of the word.  
"Ahh...now I see..." The elder emitted a congested wheeze, then faced the oblivious young man.  
There was something strange about the way he moved towards Woksworth; a suggestion of both insanity and dark despair. Something about the way his smile continued to widen that suggested the young man had somehow gained his undisrupted attention.  
With excruciating slowness, Father Volkorn stepped towards Woksworth.  
That, was when things got morbidly uncomfortable.  
Timothy Woksworth was instantly assaulted by a nauseous dread. Gooseflesh found his arms, and the hair on the back of his neck stood upright. Although he still did not fully comprehend his fate, one fact was now gut-wrenchingly clear.  
He'd just made a huge and horrible mistake.  
At that moment, Father Volkorn spoke again, his voice strangely calm despite his intense, judging gaze.  
"Do you know how we rid the land of pestilence? It's simple. With fire."  
In one swift motion, he jerked the wooden mask from the young messenger's grasp, and tossed it into the fireplace.  
Instantly, and without thinking, Woksworth began to panic. That mask, had belonged to his grandfather, and was extremely important to him.  
A last passing gift before the man he idolized had left the earth.  
Seeing the young man sink to his knees before the raging flames, the Hammerite High Priest frowned gravely.  
"You see, fire does more than burn. It flushes out the snakes who hide within the tall grass."

Timothy Woksworth was now close to being in tears, the burning remains of his family heirloom watching him through sunken, flame-filled eyes. He didn't even hear the bell chime, or the double doors of the chamber as they were thrown open.

What pulled him from his trauma, was a small group of Hammers that Father Volkorn had summoned whilst the boy was distracted in his disbelief.

The two nearest him grabbed his arms and pulled him to his feet, immobilizing him.

"W-what's happening?!" Woksworth's words stammered and whined past his gaping lips. The fires waned slightly behind him, then grew again as the last of the mask was devoured. The high priest approached the procession. With cruel, adamant hawk-eyes, he glowered down at the captured messenger.

"It would seem that Simmons' turn from our ways has blinded even his Lady Lilithia. For how else could she not see the Pagan ilk that she unwittingly trusted with so much." Woksworth's eyes went wide, his face contorting in disbelieving horror.  
"Pagan?! I'm no Pagan! I'm a Hammerite, just like you and-" The nearest Hammer promptly punched him in his stomach. The young man winced, his head drooping to just above his chest.  
"A sympathizer, if nothing more. For no man of virtue, and certainly no Hammerite would ever be saddened over the burning of wood. What matter of righteous man hides his face behind a mask?" The priest interrogated.  
"Wha-" Woksworth was too mortified to offer a decent response. Father Volkorn then raised his hand, signaling his followers to remove the young man from his sight.  
"Take him to the Room of Repentance. I will not have my chambers befouled by Pagan life the way the Simmons family has allowed."


	17. Chapter 17

As Garrett eased his way through the maze-like passages of the condemned building his apprentice called home, he instantly realized that something was amiss. On his last visit, Erin had stationed a series of traps along the hallways of the inside, a subject to which had always unnerved him. He had never taught her to make, let alone install traps. Truth be told, it was one of the few bits of knowledge that the thief himself wasn't all too familiar with. That, and how to murder people...en masse, the way Erin did.  
Garrett released a tensed sigh. Wherever she had learned it, it certainly hadn't been from him.  
The part that bothered him though about said traps, was that they were all inactive. Certainly not the hideout security he would have expected from a girl who believed that no one could ever truly be trusted. And that mindset, he was responsible for.  
But even still, if she WAS living here, why were all the traps deactivated?  
The thief pushed his way past a rotting blanket hanging weakly from a very prominent hole in the roof.  
_She probably tied it up there to keep out the drafts in winter...smart kid..._  
Erin had always been clever with gadgets. Ever since she was a child, she was notorious for finding and making use out of somewhat worthless or broken objects. Talented beyond the mere pickpocketing and sensory abilities that the thief had initially taken interest in her for, Erin had expressed these other such 'shady' gifts early on.  
Most notably was her creative talent with metal. Some of the earlier memories Garrett had of this, was the time she had found and refurbished a discarded umbrella. The thief had never seen such mangled wreckage, and thus given the item nary a glance as he trudged his way through a rainy South Quarter.  
He had his hood after all, and more importantly, a young child to get out of the rain. However, keeping an eye on the girl had never been an easy task. Erin had the uncanny ability to slip away from sight, only for Garrett to find her a few panic stricken moments later, fingers laced around a discarded metal pipe, or sometimes, a sack of gold.  
The event with the umbrella had been notable, not only for how she had bent and patched such a hopeless piece of rubbish back together, but why.  
Under the confines of that same hood, the thief gave a small grin.  
A loud clatter from just beyond his field of vision prompted his mind back to the present. He casually craned his head upwards, and when he still could not locate Erin, leaned to the side.  
"You okay?" He called out, sounding more bored than concerned.  
"Yeah! Just wrestling to open a can of beans here!" The young woman replied with an embarrassed chuckle.  
Making his way over the last of the crates, Garrett approached the meager stove where she stood, stabbing a bent tin can with her dagger. He smirked.  
"Ever hear of a can opener?"  
"I don't need one!" Erin shrugged, wiggling her blade to free it from the mess of cheap brown slop.  
"Uh-huh, sure..." Blue piercing eyes gave the thief's smug expression a far less amused stare. Unfortunately, they did not remain fixated upon his face for long.  
"Augh! Damn it!" Erin growled, having pulled the dagger out. In the process, she had accidentally nicked the hand holding onto the wobbly can. Instinctively, Garrett rushed to her aid.  
"How deep is it?" He demanded. Although considered 'polite' , the thief always found it both redundant and foolish to ask if someone was alright after harming themselves. Instead, and as always, Garrett got right to the point.  
"It's just a cut..." Erin winced, desperately grabbing for a filth-ridden cloth object. Unable to see if this was true or merely just his waif attempting to prove her independence yet again, Garrett stepped forward and pulled a single water arrow from his pack.  
"Don't-" He interrupted, pushing the disgusting object away before the young woman could blot up the blood. She gave him an annoyed, but complacent look.  
"It's bleeding." She muttered dryly.  
"Yeah. Put something that dirty on an open wound and blood will be the least of your worries. There's a way to treat injuries properly Erin, you should know this by now." He grunted, wrapping the edge of his cloak around the arrowhead.  
"What are you doing?"  
Garrett didn't answer her, instead giving the enchanted blue object a tight twist. The glass shattered evenly within his cloak, and a cool rush of water ran over Erin's cut.  
"There's always way more water in those things than you expect." She noted with a grin. Garrett was still silent, next withdrawing a half-filled health potion. But when he went to pour a few drops of the liquid over her wound, Erin abruptly spun away.  
"Don't waste that. It's a simple cut Garrett, really." The thief was miffed, but simply replaced the lid of the potion flask with a huff.  
"At least bandage that thing with something clean."  
"Thanks, I know."  
"Not too sure of that, considering what you were about to use before."  
Erin quickly faced him, anger burning like two enraged flares within her cerulean irises.  
"Garrett! Enough!"  
Now Garrett was sure that something was amiss. Either that, or she had completely snapped on a hair trigger, but that seemed beyond her usual bouts of discontent, even for Erin.  
"Fine." He replied in a tone not much different than her own, although perhaps more level and collected. Erin shook her head, then allowed the beans to slowly ooze out of the slash she had managed to make in the can, ignoring her injury for the moment.  
As she struggled to light the stove, Garrett looked around for a suitable place to sit. Upon seeing that the room they were in consisted of little more than broken glass and old wooden boxes of questionable reliability, he finally made himself comfortable on her creaky yet surprisingly plush twin-sized bed.  
The hinges slightly protested as Garrett adjusted his weight, kicking up a booted foot, then wiping a squishy bit of decaying newspaper off of it.  
"Feet off the bed." Erin muttered, her back towards him. Garrett silently groaned, rolling his eyes. But he did listen.  
"Don't see how these sheets could get any filthier." He murmured under his breath.  
"That's not the point. This is my domain and these are my rules, not that I'd ever expect you to obey me." Erin retorted, stirring the beans. The thief looked down at his boots, and shook his head.  
"No, of course I'd never listen to you." This prompted her to turn around, ready to unleash another string of poorly chosen barbs. But seeing Garrett sitting there with his boots on the floorboards halted her. The thief looked up at her and smirked. "Give me some credit kid."  
"Anyways, thought you came here to get my tracking expertise, not nurse my 'boo-boos'." She chose to ignore him, and went back to stirring the beans.  
"Yet here you are serving me dinner."  
"You gotta eat, right?"  
"Not so sure that's 'food', Erin..." Garrett made a face as she presented him with a still-bubbling helping of the questionable gruel. Dramatically, the young woman dropped the bowl to the floor.  
"Fine. You wanna get down to brass tacks, let's go."  
"Erin? Are you alright?"  
"Yeah, of course I am!" She responded with a snarky laugh. She crooked an eyebrow and gave him a demeaning glance, staring at the thief as if he were a fool. "Why wouldn't I be?"  
Garrett motioned all around him, and then returned her expression.  
"Does this look alright to you?"  
There was a moment of unspoken desperation enshrouding her, as Erin searched her mind restlessly for a response that would quell her mentor's concerned suspicions.  
She didn't need his help. She didn't need anyone. She, was strong.  
"So I'm behind on a little housekeeping...so what?" Again, she made a weak attempt at feigning wellness.  
But Garrett wasn't buying it.


	18. Chapter 18

Garrett sat in perturbed silence as he watched Erin clean her bowl. She ended the meal with a less than contented groan.  
"Ugh! When did I steal that can of beans again!?" He heard her question under her breath. She quickly downed a half-empty bottle of wine to take the taste from her mouth. After wiping her wet lips with the back of her glove, she looked up at Garrett. The thief was now watching her through pensive eyes.  
He wasn't leaving her side until he knew what was causing her so much distress.  
Having the Primal Stone share her body and soul had been a damaging experience for the young woman, and not just physically. Additional, were the horrific bouts of brutal torture and surgery that the Moira Asylum staff had put her through. Garrett's lips grew tight as he ground his teeth beneath them.  
If she hadn't been unstable before entering that hell, there was no question about it now  
Garrett had never seen her so jumpy, so unable to handle her emotions. Her dwelling was in deplorable condition, and as recently noticed, Erin hadn't even bothered to reset her many traps. She wasn't thinking straight, that much was clear to him; and that so-called place of healing and salvation had been the cause of whatever plagued her.  
The thief was sure of it.  
"So, where was your pagan ladyfriend last seen?"  
"Huh?" Garrett blinked. He had been so preoccupied by what could be wrong with Erin, that he had forgotten the entire reason he had come to her hideout.  
She met his flustered expression with an offended, almost mocking glare.  
"Really?! I mean, it was a simple question..." She scoffed.  
"Then repeat it Erin." The thief snapped, not wanting any of her sass. Erin rolled her eyes and groaned loudly.  
"Where did you last see Gwenevere?"  
"At Sophie's safehouse. She went to bathe and never came out of the bathroom. When Sophie unlocked the door, she had escaped out the window. There were thick vines clinging to the side of the apartment, trailing down into the streets."  
"Yeah, that's never not gonna be weird for me." Erin noted. "Anything else? She leave you a note, or did she just go off to dance naked around fire pits and howl at the moon?" Erin chortled at her own joke. Garrett, was far from amused. His brows furrowed and he glowered at her through an intense yet dark gaze.  
"That's not funny Erin. If you're just gonna make light of this, then I'll take my chances with other, less reliable sources." He retorted.  
"Do I even want to ask?"  
"No, you don't. You really don't." He replied.  
"Oo-kay. So, did she leave a note?"  
"Yes." Garrett replied bluntly. Erin stared at him for several seconds, until she realized that the thief wasn't going to offer any more information.  
"Well, mind telling me what it said? Might give clues to where she went."  
"You gonna make any more stupid jokes?" Garrett asked, very serious.  
"I was just trying to have a little fun." Erin shrugged.  
"You can have fun on your own clock Erin. I've got more important things to do than sit around telling knock-knock jokes with you. You aren't a child anymore."  
"Glad you finally noticed." She retorted coolly. "So, about that note..."  
Garrett sighed hard. He was starting to think that this might have been a very bad idea.  
"She said she was following after a wisp." He closed his eyes, expecting another quippy remark from his waif. But she just nodded.  
"Huh. Well that shouldn't be too hard then."  
"What do you mean?"  
"Well, I once had to hit a hammerite for someone. Turns out ironically, he was located in pagan territory trying to kill a few of them off. Luckily for those nuts, I got him first."  
"One hammer against possibly an entire group of pagans? What was that taffer thinking?!" Garrett shook his head in disbelief.  
"Beats me. Not in my job description to learn about people. Well, besides where they live and if they'll be carrying weapons or packing protection."  
"And the point of this little story is?" Garrett prodded her back to the task at hand.  
"Wisps live in pagan turf. Didn't think you'd need to be told that." Erin chided him.  
"I know that Erin. Everyone knows that. What's your point?"  
"My point, thank you very much, is that wisps leave residue as they fly. This residue looks like tiny green sparks, and it's pretty easy to spot. It clings to walls and to the ground where the wisp has been hovering. It's bioluminescent, and lasts for about a week to mark the wisps presence to outsiders, so they will be warned to stay away."  
Erin stood and walked across the room to where a small leather pouch lay propped up against the wall. She dug through it and soon produced a small but very thick book.  
"If we can find any wisp residue within the vicinity of Sophie's bathroom window, then we would be able to track her down. After all, doubt there are many mystical balls of light floating around the city."  
Erin concluded her explanation by showing Garrett a page in the book. There were several drawings of what he could only figure to be wisp residue, as well as a will-o-wisp hovering just above. The paragraph below went into great detail regarding the residue and the creatures themselves.  
Garrett subconsciously winced when he read the part about how they can burn those who enter their territory. The memory of how painful said burns were, made the thief sincerely hope that he would not encounter any wisps whilst looking for Gwenevere. Though this unfortunately seemed a reasonable possibility.  
"Right. Sounds great kid." The thief smiled, genuinely impressed with her.  
"So, you ready to head back to Sophie's place?" Erin picked up her knapsack and affixed it to the belt around her waist. The teal beaded necklace around her neck clacked slightly as she did so.  
"Not yet Erin." Garrett remarked, also standing.  
"Well, what else is there?" Erin asked, motioning her arms out in befuddlement.  
Garrett looked into her vibrant blue eyes, his being unnerved by what he saw. She was struggling with something. Something that tormented the young woman's mind on her best days, and threatened to engulf her into a torrent of unending insanity on her worst.  
"Erin. What's going on?" He was direct, yet visibly concerned. Erin grew very uncomfortable. She fiddled with the beads around her neck, breaking eye contact with her old teacher.  
At first, Garrett thought she was angry again.  
He knew this look; the one where she would bite her bottom lip and stare at her boots sternly for a few minutes, before jerking upright and yelling in his face. It would always be something cold, cruel. Something that deep down, the young girl didn't really mean; let alone want to say.  
She was quick to let the feelings at present control the entire situation at hand. Spontaneous, and maybe a little afraid of being wrong.  
Being hurt.  
To his surprise, she started to laugh ever so softly.  
"Listen Garrett, I don't know why you're so concerned with me right now. Shouldn't you be going to find Gwenevere?"  
"Erin, I need to know. What's going on? You can trust me, you know this."  
"Of course I know that Garrett! Why do you think I kept calling out to you while I was kidnapped? Why do you think I wanted to be close with you again?"  
Garrett's eyes widened, completely unprepared for her mention of the visions. He hadn't thought of them in so long. Everything before Gwenevere that year...that terrible, nightmarish year...it had all but faded into his subconscious.  
As the eerie questions quickly flooded his ravaged mind, Erin continued to speak.  
"They won't stop coming. I can't stop seeing them..." She looked up at him, her eyes glassy with tears that the upstart girl refused to shed. "It's still inside of me..." As the last words left her lips in a hushed gasp, Erin went pale.  
That set him off.

"Erin!?" He reached for her shoulder and clasped it firmly yet gently. "What's wrong!? What's happened?"  
Erin opened her mouth, but between the withheld tears and her parched throat, no words came forth. Faced with the reality of it all, she turned back towards the exit and attempted to leave.  
No, she couldn't tell him. Garrett was the reason she had made it to adulthood. At the very least, she owed it to her caretaker not to burden him with such depressing troubles.  
She could fix this on her own. Somehow...

"I-it's not really that bad. I-I've just been kind of off lately. Maybe it's the wine, heh-heh..." She managed to muster up some false laugher. "Look, it's been nice chatting with you and all Garrett, but we've really gotta get this whole 'search and rescue' thingy underway. So let's go!"  
Garrett reached for her as she slipped free of his grasp.  
"Erin, you don't have to lie about this." He offered.  
But before the thief could stop her, she had already begun to make her way through the cramped corridor of boxes and disabled traps.


	19. Chapter 19

Mcclay and Tobias watched Gwenevere dance for a while, until the elder's stomach began to rumble.  
"Young Gwenevere? Have you eaten recently?" Mcclay called to her hesitantly. A part of him felt wrong to have disrupted her moonlit display, but his gurgling stomach disagreed.  
Gwenevere stopped twirling abruptly and turned to face him. She squeaked in embarrassment, the Keeper's call having reminded her of his presence. She awkwardly looked up at him through wide eyes.  
"Oh! Sorry, I kinda lost myself there for a moment..." She laughed weakly, her face still flushed.  
"No harm done child. I merely want to know if you would like something to eat." Mcclay smiled.  
Gwenevere, smiled back.  
"I would love something, thanks."

Gwenevere smiled as she finished the last of her dinner. She looked back and forth between Tobias and Keeper Mcclay. Both men were situated on either side of the table, although the nervous youngster was seated the furthest away. Still not sure why he was so afraid of her, the little nymph decided to try and make a new friend.

"Tobias, can I ask you a question?" She inquired, tapping the rotting wood table to gain his attention.  
"Sure, I guess..." He muttered, mouth still half-full of food.  
"Manners Tobias!" Keeper Mcclay corrected with a snort.  
"Oh, um...alright. What is it you would like to know?"  
"Well, Garrett told me that when he apprenticed under the Keypers, he was called an acolyte. I was wondering why you're a squire, if you too are apprenticing under Keyper Mcclay. Is that a different level in the Keyper apprenticeship or something?"  
"Umm..." Tobias was clearly caught off-guard by the sudden personal question, nearly choking on his food.  
"I'll take this one Toby." Mcclay reassured the young man when he saw that Tobias was at a loss for explanation. "You see Gwenevere, Tobias has very real, very raw potential. Unfortunately, the Keepers refused to accept him into study due to his lack of discipline. I, on the other hand, am free to carve my own destiny whilst on the road like this." He reached over and patted his apprentice proudly on the back. "As such, I have taken it upon myself to both raise and train him. It is wasteful to limit talent and betterment to those who possess perfect judgment. Magic has grown sparse within our world, and we need new talent now; lest we all go to our graves without successors to lead the next generation."  
Gwenevere smiled.  
"That's a very admirable way of thinking." She praised. Keeper Mcclay looked down towards his empty plate.  
"Unfortunately, young Gwenevere, very few people think admirably these days. That is why you survived. To bring glory and beauty back into this world. You are not for any one group or faction. The gift that the Last Mother has in store for us, will one day save us all."  
Gwenevere dropped her fork at his accusation.  
"I beg your pardon?"  
"The Last Mother. This is your woodland title, is it not?"  
"I already told you, I'm no goddess. Not anymore..."  
"Perhaps not. But, you still have the power to shape the future. In most people's eyes, that grants you the power of a deity."  
"What are you talking about?" Gwenevere growled, growing steadily more uncomfortable. "I thought I was here to translate some old tomes for you."  
"Yes, for me. But what you will do for this city, nay, this world: That has far more merit in the long run. So I ask you this; what do you plan to do?"  
The little nymph looked up at him, trying to determine just what he expected her to say.  
"I don't really know that yet."  
"If you do not know, then perhaps this is further proof that you need to help the people of this world." Gwenevere listened intently, not liking what she was being told. What was Keeper Mcclay suggesting?  
"I don't understand."  
"Gwenevere. It is time I told you the true reason I have been following you. The interpreter has spoken of one who will bring suffering as a ruler through folly. At first, we assumed that this meant you, as you are no doubt aware of your new status, and are poorly acclimated to the human world beyond that what Simmons and Garrett have taught you." Gwenevere's eyes flashed.  
"You really think I would become the baroness?! I told that Woksworth guy no! That I wasn't gonna do it! I sent him away." Gwenevere defended.  
"Yes, and that is why our thoughts on you have shifted. I must level with you Gwenevere. The enforcer I brought along was meant for you. But after seeing that you clearly are not the one the prophecy spoke of, we used her to slay the hunter who tried to take your life." The young woman's eyes flew open at this. The man she had found back in Nethalzia drenched in blood. That had been Mcclay's doing?!  
"W-why would you do that!?" She asked with a whimper.  
"To keep you alive. The text clearly mentioned you, and fortunately for the both of us, as well as the city, you are not the villain I seek. Rather, you are the one who shall bring our foe down."  
Gwenevere sat upright, knocking her chair over in the process. Tobias shrieked and cowered at her sudden show of wrath.  
"No! I'm not a hero! I'm...I'm..." She began to panic. Her eyes flooded with the first of several thick, weighty tears. Mcclay extended a hand, beckoning for her to remain calm, but it was of no use.  
"I have to go!" She sobbed, racing away from the table. Instantly, Mcclay stood to pursue her.  
"Keeper Mcclay? Are you so certain that's wise?" A worried Tobias inquired. The elder was silent, simply staring into the darkened tunnels of the mining shaft, listening as the lost nymph's cries grew louder and more pain-stricken.  
"Something is not as it should be. When most are made to believe that they are destined for great things, tears are not the usual response. Gwenevere obviously does not believe herself good or special in any sense of the word."  
"Master?"  
"Keep the food warm Toby, I'll be returning shortly." ************************************  
He found her back outside, staring longingly up at the moon through hopeless eyes.  
"Gwenevere? What is it that troubles you so?" Mcclay approached where she stood.  
"My father was an evil forest god and my mother was a ferocious tree spirit. I was created for the sole purpose of causing chaos and destruction. How can you possibly look upon me and see anything useful?! Anything helpful and kind?" She demanded, her eyes now red from tears of rage.  
As always, Keeper Mcclay remained vigilant, and strangely collected.  
"The way I see you is truth to me my dear, and that truth is enough. I know you have a dark past. But if you think that makes you dangerous or special, then you are sadly mistaken."  
"Fine. So be it." She stared directly into him, and slid the color contact down, revealing the haunting wood beast eye beneath. Keeper Mcclay was noticeably shaken; no mortal couldn't be.  
For what he was seeing was never meant for the living.  
It was a final sight, reserved for a demon's hapless victim.  
She stared and stared, her heart hot with discomfort and remorse. There was nothing on this earth that Gwenevere desired more than to save the helpless, to breathe life into this dying city. But she had since discovered, that such things were beyond her.  
Beyond the grasp and power of a ruined and lost forest nymph. The wood had denounced her long ago, her defiance in the face of the Trickster and every other old nature deity had only caused her to falter.  
To shift and change into a deformed little beast who now could never hope to be saved.  
Her powers were dwindling, and dream or no, Gwenevere knew that it wouldn't be long now before all magic left her.  
"I cannot be the one you seek, and I can never be good for anyone's sake; let alone a whole city. I'm nothing but an abomination."  
She gasped as the Keeper's wrinkled hand found her face. Bringing up her chin, he locked eyes with her. There was a soothing warmth not only in his touch, but also emanating from his very being. A presence that made Gwenevere feel accepted, and more importantly, cared about.  
Keeper Mcclay's lips parted, and one single sentence emerged.  
"An abomination? No, you are a remarkable creature, my dear."


	20. Chapter 20

Garrett was genuinely impressed. While Erin had never been much of a thief, she appeared to have all but mastered the art of tracking.

She was fully absorbed in her hunt, never looking down at her feet for wisp residue, but rather focusing on what was in front of her a few yards ahead. Erin's blue eyes blazed as she found more green sparkles further down the road, curving off into the South Quarter district.

An air of bittersweet whimsy filled Garrett.

This was where they used to live.

"Huh...interesting..." Erin's voice drew his attention.

It was low, her tone more mature than usual. She was squatting now, running her fingers through a particularly dense patch of glowing green residue.

"What is it Erin?" Garrett inquired.

Erin rubbed the residue free from her fingers with her thumb, then looked up at him.

"It wasn't just a wisp your lady was after. There was someone with her."  
"You can tell that from the patch of green flakes?" The thief crooked his eyebrow at this.  
"There are fibers in it. Cloth fibers. Wisps don't wear clothes." Erin gave him a teasing smirk. Garrett groaned.  
"No, but Gwenevere does."  
"Unless she was wearing brown, not a chance." Erin remarked, twining the tawny fibers around her fingers.  
"I don't what she was wearing." Garrett murmured, his mind now racing with every possibility.

Gwenevere.

Where did such blind forwardness and trust of humanity even come from? Why did she even care? Nymphs were usually only concerned with their own survival, and that of their precious forests.

Garrett grinned.

Perhaps this explained everything.

Gwenevere had never ruled over a wood, and she had long ago lost all sight of life. She was Simmons' lamb to slaughter, and from an early age she had known this. But now that she had earned her most coveted freedom, perhaps things had begun to change in her thoughts.

Garrett recalled what the emerald-eyed nymph had once told him; about how she wanted to atone for her sins. To make up for the ill-found fate that had befallen the family she failed to assist last year.

Was all of this reckless behavior, this unrivaled zest and desire to help people...due to that?!

Garrett shook his head.

How could he not have seen what was right in front of him all along?

_Regardless, she should be ready for what the city has in store. Before she can take care of others, she has to know how to take care of herself...It seems I'll need to have a serious talk with her-again..._

"Oh crud..." Erin gasped in a terrified manner.

The thief looked at her curiously, then followed her eyes to where they were now transfixed.

It was an old well.

The reservoir hadn't been used for years now, and for very good reason.

There were Pagans lurking just beneath it.

They had scurried to dark patches like this throughout the city, occupying tunnels, dilapidated houses and mining compounds. Garrett didn't quite know why they had fled the forest, but he had a pretty good idea that it had something to do with the genocide that had befallen their tribes under Karras's command.

Garrett's face contorted with uncertainty.

What was Gwenevere doing down there?! And more importantly, was there really someone with her?

If so, whom?

Was this person dangerous? If they were Pagan, then probably so. At least, where he and Erin were concerned. The thief looked his ward up and down, cautiously.

"Erin, you've done good work. I'm genuinely impressed by your talent kid."

The young woman looked away, both surprised by the sudden compliment, as well as embarrassed.

"Thanks..."  
"But, you need to leave now. I can handle it from here."  
"What?! Garrett, you can't be-" Erin squawked before the thief abruptly cut her off.  
"-Listen Erin. There might be Pagans down there. There might be worse things. I'm not about to recklessly endanger you."

Erin looked up at him with a disappointed frown.

Then, rather unexpectedly, she laughed.

"Fine. Then I'll just have to recklessly endanger MYSELF, instead."

****************************************************  
The rope within the well led downward into a series of dank and gloomy caverns. Garrett noted the pungent scent of gas upon their entry. His first impressions led him to believe that this was wafting from the nearby sewer systems just beyond. He was soon to be very mistaken.

"So, do you think there could really be Pagans down here?" Erin whispered.  
"Very possibly. I'd be surprised if there weren't, actually."  
"Would explain why Gwenevere ran off down here. Wanted to be with her own kind." Erin quipped playfully. Garrett chose to ignore her this time.

Pressing his back up against the musty cavern wall, the thief peered down the pathway. He couldn't see the end. It just kept going out into the darkness.

"Looks like we won't be going that way." He mused with a scoff.  
"Garrett! Over here!" Erin's voice reverberated off the cavern walls, much louder than she had anticipated.

Garrett flinched. She may have been better at him when it came to tracking, but remaining undetected was another matter entirely.

He quietly approached where she was standing. There was a large divot in the earth, wherein three large oval objects lay. They were dirt brown, with flecks of black and moss green. Erin's eyes widened, and a naughty grin spanned across her face.

"Do you have any idea what these are?" She whispered, leaving Garrett to ponder why she hadn't been this discreet sooner.

The thief looked over the three objects, noticing how the ground beneath them appeared to have been disturbed quite recently.

"I'm not sure, but doesn't look all too important or valuable. We've got more important-"  
"-These, are BURRICK eggs Garrett!" Erin proclaimed, fighting to contain her exuberance. " Do you have any idea how rare those things are now? Or more importantly, how much I could get for just one of these babies?!"

The thief was far from pleased.

"Erin. Two things. One: Who in the world would actually pay for burrick's eggs? Those things are nothing but a nuisance, and a dangerous one at that. Two: If there are burricks down here now, we really need to move. Preferably away from their nests."  
"Smart ass." Erin rolled her eyes. "For your information, I have a regular who would love to get his hands on these."

Looking back at the eggs, she leaned forward and removed the closest one from the nest.

"Erin, no!" Garrett barked. But there was no stopping her, as a part of him already knew.

Erin laughed under her breath and went for another egg, only to find it moving.

Or rather, shaking.

The entire tunnel was shaking in fact. A cold terror flooded Garrett's veins. Instinctively, he ducked into the nearby shadows of the passageway, beckoning for his waif to follow.

"Honestly Garrett. It's just a little earthquake. You're such a coward."  
"That's no earthquake Erin. Hide yourself, now!"

Erin turned around and gave him a mocking grin, as if it were the funniest thing in the world that Garrett, Master Thief was hiding from something.

But her jeers were cut short as a lumbering reptilian creature came into view.

It was an adult burrick, all two thousand pounds of it.

The creature barely seemed to notice the young woman at first, waving it's head to the sides in a lazy fashion. It exhaled a puff of poisonous green smog from its oversized nostrils, then craned its head down to check on the eggs.

Only to find one missing.

The burrick threw back its head with a loud, mournful howl of loss. That's when it noticed Erin, causing her to instantly regret what she had just done. The cavern dweller made another, more primal noise upon smelling it's young within this human's possession.

A roar.

The burrick wasn't the only one within the vicinity to act out of paternal instinct. With an air of danger, Garrett seized his quiver and prepared an assault. All the while, Erin stared captivated up into the shrunken black eyes of the beast, trying to decide what she should do.

As the burrick opened its mouth again to spew toxic fumes at her, she bolted. Garrett's eyes narrowed, his mechanical eye zooming in for the shot.

It was a perfect mark.

His fire arrow found the maw of the beast, causing the gas within its mouth to burst into flames. The burrick screeched in pain, writhing and slamming it's head against the cavern walls in blind desperation. His foe temporarily distracted, the thief darted from the shadows and ran after Erin.


	21. Chapter 21

He tailed her into the sewers, where she stopped to catch her breath.

"Was it really worth that much?!" He demanded, doing the same.  
"You don't understand Garrett. Nobles are a stupid breed."  
"What's your point?"  
"Some of them keep burricks as pets. Will pay a lot for one in fact. But I doubt you would know anything about such things. You said yourself-"  
"-Ramirez. Ramirez and his bastard sons are the only ones who would be mad enough to keep burricks as pets."  
"You do know!" Erin was a bit surprised, to say the least.  
"Yeah, I had a few 'run-ins' with the guy way back when."  
"Then you would also know that Ramirez is dead. It's his sons, who want the burricks." Erin corrected.  
"I don't give a damn about the details Erin. You know I'd rather you didn't, but if you must, please exersise caution around that crowd."  
"For your information, I've been working with 'that crowd', for years now without incident. They might not be your kind of people Garrett, but they're alright in my book."  
"Won't be a very long book if you keep hanging around people like that."  
"Shut up! This isn't about me!"

Erin deflected, peering in on the stolen egg. Garrett chanced a peek at it too, then groaned.

"Right..." He looked around the rankness of the sewers they were in.

The rumbling, resumed.

The burrick suddenly burst through the wall, unfazed by the tough metal and brick. Erin gasped and started to run again. But this time, Garrett managed to stop her.

"Don't. They can easily outrun you in sprints!" He cautioned.  
"Well, then what the taff am I supposed to do?!" The young woman exclaimed, fear residing within her blue eyes.

The creature started towards them, a heavy panting coming from it's sputtering, burned mouth.

"Up the ladder!"  
"But, we haven't located any wisp residue in that-"  
"-Now Erin!"

The young assassin didn't object. Hand over hand, she frantically scurried up the ladder, Garrett falling in behind. Halfway up, the thief felt the burrick take the metal ladder up within its mouth. With a mighty tug, it effortlessly yanked the ladder free of the wall, bringing Garrett down with it.

The thief landed squarely atop the creature's head, and it shook it's greasy mane violently to try and throw him. Garrett grabbed hold of that disgusting mess of hair, and held on tight. His other hand pulled free his bow and a rope arrow. He leapt from the creature.

"Garrett! You okay?" Erin called down.  
"Go on! I can handle it from here!" He replied, his voice shaken.

Erin was hesitant, never moving from her spot at the top of the shaft.

A terrible fume then found the thief's nostrils. Garrett protested, covering his mouth and nose. But it was of little use. The poison was now steadily coursing his system.

As the world grew hazy, he heard a loud thump. The burrick roared again, followed by a dull moan.

Then, silence.

Garrett struggled to see what had just transpired. But breathing was growing difficult. Only his right eye provided him with any sight now, and the lack of depth perception brought with it a memory of utter helplessness and dread.

"Garrett. Drink this."

Erin forced something into his hands. Having no other clear option, the thief took a questioning swig from the container. It was bitter, sour. But within moments, his vision returned. Able to breathe again, he smiled at Erin.

"That's an antidote for various natural poisons. Thought we might need it down here, so I came prepared." The young woman took the bottle from him once he was finished.  
"Thanks kid."  
"Anytime."

Erin looked back down at the creature she had temporarily stunned. Garrett smirked.

"You didn't kill it Erin. I'm surprised."  
"Hey, I like these guys! Why would I kill it?" She shrugged. "It's nobles I have a problem with."  
"Yet you stole that egg for Ramirez's boys..."  
"They aren't nobles Garrett; you know that."  
"Yeah. They're murderers." The thief retorted.  
"Look, let's just drop it for now and go look for Gwenevere, okay? I saw some more wisp residue up there, let's go."

Garrett replied by firing his rope arrow into the wooden ceiling through the mouth of the exit. He heaved his way up the rope and into the second half of the Pagan maze.

*****************************************************

They proceeded through the remains of an old mansion, long reclaimed by nature and tall trees, until they reached a closed door. There was the slightest flicker of candlelight coming from within. Garrett tried the knob. It was locked.

"Tch, figures." He groaned, bending down and producing his lockpicks.

Erin leaned against the door as he worked. Soon, a small grin found her lips.

"Your girl's in there." Garrett stopped working and looked up.  
"What?! How can you tell?"  
"I know her voice. Plus, she's talking about cookies." Erin replied.

The thief shook his head, and finished picking the simple lock. The door opened with a creak, and Erin was the first inside, dagger produced and ready.

"Erin no!' Garrett hollered.

But his intervention was unnecessary.

Gwenevere was seated at a round table along with Tobias and Keeper Mcclay. Between them was a silver tray, three cups of steaming tea, and some cookies. The three looked on with both surprise and bewilderment at the two intruding rogues for a few scarce seconds before Gwenevere giggled.

"Hey! It's Garrett and Erin! Care for a cookie?" Gwenevere offered joyfully.  
"A cookie?!" Garrett was exasperated, his brows furrowing in annoyance. "Gwenevere, do you honestly think that now is the time?!"  
"Any time is a good time for a cookie!" She blinked. "Here." She handed him one of the sweet treats. But Garrett's hand found and grabbed her wrist instead.  
"Forget it. Let's go."

With that, he slung Gwenevere up over his shoulder and carried her out of the room. Erin replaced her dagger and stopped at the table before a shocked Mcclay and Tobias.

"I'll take a few though, thanks!" She smirked, grabbing up several with both hands.

After stuffing them into her knapsack, she raced off down a separate tunnel.

Finding his voice, Tobias gawked at the feisty assassin as she departed.

"Who was THAT?!" He whispered, smitten.

Mcclay didn't offer a response. He just stared at the newly open doorway, listening as the wind whistled softly through the trees overhead.

*********************************

Stopping to catch his breath, Garrett braced himself against the greystone wall. Through heated pants, he looked over Gwenevere for any signs of distress. The girl was fine, as far as he could tell. Drained of mana, but otherwise unharmed.

"Are you okay Garrett? You're panting an awful lot." She noted, earnestly.

The thief glared at her, his mechanized eye zooming in on her wayward grin.

It was as if she had no idea.

Completely clueless to the dangers she now faced as a mortal creature.

The thief winced suddenly as a strong pressure found his chest. He fought to stifle and silence his discomfort, but while inaudible, his facial expressions gave him away.

"Garrett! What's wrong!"

Gwenevere placed both of her hands against his chest, hoping to aid his trouble. But the exhausted thief briskly denied her.

"I'm fine!" He yelled, startling her. Gwenevere blinked and took a few steps back.  
"Oh..."  
"Look Gwenevere. I know the past few weeks have been very life-altering for you. There is undoubtedly much that you have left to ponder and grow accustomed to. But there is one matter which you need to get clarity on right now. You are not a goddess anymore! You're a mortal nymph who requires the sustenance of the earth to fuel your powers, and to possibly even stay alive."  
"Garrett I know that!"  
"Do you Gwenevere?! Do you really? Because from what I've seen as of lately, you've done nothing to practice caution around the city. If anything, you've gotten even more flighty and careless than before! I won't always be able to come to your rescue Gwenevere; I'm a thief, not a knight in shining armor. You've been without plants for days, you were drained of magic when Erin and I found you. Do you realize what that means?!"  
"That I wouldn't have been able to use any of my nymph powers until I encountered more plantlife and had a chance to replenish..."  
"No. It means that if Keeper Mcclay's intentions for you had of been fatal, you'd be dead right now!"  
"He wasn't like that Garrett! He was nice! He wanted to help me, and I wanted to help him! You said you trusted me, so start acting like it! What are you so afraid of losing?" She retorted.

The thief turned his eyes from the nymph, as if trying to keep her from seeing that which he kept locked behind that tenacious gaze.

Keepers. Hammerites. Pagans.

Given the opportunity, they had all used him as their puppet at one point or another. Tasks ranging from mere favors to outright dangerous missions had been conducted through him, and due to the cold breath of death on his neck, Garrett had rarely been in a position to decline.

Though he knew himself gifted, talented, Garrett also knew how the rest of the world saw him.

As a criminal who would do what he had to in order to survive.

To keep the knife from their neck.

A knife, which all too often the wrong people held.

He still remembered how he had clawed his broken body from Constantine's manor. The Keepers whom had rescued him had given only mandatory treatment to his injuries. A gaping hollow where his right eye had been hours before and entire body riddled with an intense agony, the thief had somehow managed to leave that hell.

Only to instantly be forced into rescuing the Hammerite priest when he went to their temple for assistance.

Despite his fresh, life-altering injury and lack of depth perception, they still put their own causes first. As was the way of the world as Garrett knew it.

It was times like this that the thief truly wanted to know where Gwenevere resided. What did she see in this city, or the people therein, that was so important to her? So worth saving?

"Gwenevere, I know how selfish and cruel people can be. If they don't respect you, then they view you as a tool, especially if you're freely giving. Then they'll just use you up until there's nothing left. That is why I don't like you mingling Gwenevere. Frankly, you're not in a position to be respected. Not by them, at least."  
"I don't want respect! I want to help people!" She screamed. "I don't care if they treat me badly, if I can save-"

Gwenevere yipped as the thief's lips suddenly cut her off. He plunged his passion deeply into her mouth, consuming all thought. All breath. Despite his best efforts to remain stubborn, Garrett's relationship with Gwenevere had changed him in places. Small places that perhaps others would never see, but still.

He knew that he would never truly be used to this, nor be able to provide anything for her that resembled a normal romance.

But he wanted to try.

"Never...say that." Garrett hissed. "It doesn't matter what you strive for in this life; if you don't demand respect in your endeavors, you won't survive. You are valuable Gwenevere, and so is this help you wish to give. But never give it freely. Even if it isn't gold, you should at least demand something for this. At the very least, this should be respect."

Gwenevere looked at him, her face still flushed from his kiss.

"But why then? Why did Keyper Mcclay want to help me? If he's so dangerous, why am I standing before you, untouched by his hand?"  
"Keepers aren't normal Gwenevere; they never have been. Mcclay has a hidden agenda, mark my words."  
"Why do you hate the Keypers so much anyway?"

Garrett froze, staring fixated on her for a moment. Memories flooded his mind, and none of them were pleasant. His lips slowly grew agape, but no words exited his mouth.  
Instead, he just continued to look at her, befuddled.

"None of that matters now. It was all such a very long time ago. That chapter of my life is over, thankfully." He finally spoke softly.  
"So then why-"  
"-if I ever decide to reopen to that particular page, it will be of my own volition."


	22. Chapter 22

Once back within the realms of society, Garrett looked behind him. Gwenevere was keeping pace, but she was obviously still very unnerved by what had transpired back in the mines. He stopped under a bridge and turned around.  
"You alright?" He offered.  
Gwenevere gave him a hesitant, almost guilty look.  
"Yes." She peeped, her voice low.  
Garrett released a heavy sigh and cast his gaze up to the hazy sky. It looked like it was going to be yet another rainy eve.  
"Gwenevere, I know I should be but...I'm finding it hard to be upset with you."  
"Do ya have to be?" The nymph gave the slightest of smirks.  
"I don't have to, no. But I should be. Your constant running off, endangering yourself. Frankly, it's getting to be a pain in the ass. Yet, I find myself starting to slowly accept that this is just who you are. How it has to be." He took a step closer to her. "So as long as you learn how to live in my world, and you promise to defend yourself should the need arise...I'm fine with whatever you chose to do with your life Gwenevere."  
Gwenevere nearly gasped. These were among the last words she had ever expected to leave the thief's lips. She craned her head to the side, as if trying to decipher if he was serious or not. But the thief's firm expression remained a constant reminder of just how rarely he joked around.  
"Garrett, what are you saying?" She snapped, almost angrily. "If you truly feel this way, then why did you drag me away from Keyper Mcclay and Tobias?!"  
"I said you could go about the city AFTER you learn what it means to live here. Until then, yes. I'll continue to decide where you go and who you spend your time with."  
"So, I'll assume this means more training." She blew her bangs out of her face, perturbed.  
"If you're ready to learn, then yes." Garrett replied.  
"Yeah, I'm ready to learn again. Only one problem."  
"Oh? And what would that be?"  
"I'm kinda drained of mana here. I need some more plant energy." She looked up at him, expectantly.  
Garrett watched her for the longest time, completely lost to what she wanted.  
Finally, he just asked.  
"Erm, Gwenevere? Why are you staring at me?"  
"Can I have a moss arrow?"  
"Huh?"  
"Please?" She begged, doe-eyed.  
"To do...what with, exactly?" The thief crooked an eyebrow at her odd request. Gwenevere giggled.  
"Why, to eat of course! I need to absorb plant energy back into my system. Since there's no gardens or forests to speak of in the vicinity, ingesting a moss arrow seems like the next best thing."  
"Are you serious?! Gwenevere, they're encased in glass!"  
"So?" She blinked.  
Garrett groaned again in frustration.  
"So you're saying eating glass won't hurt you? If you honestly believe that, then I have more to teach you about survival than I thought."  
"Garrett, I'm a nymph. My body can do things yours can't."  
"You've got me there. I can't make branches shoot out of my hands and feet." He pulled free a moss arrow from his pack with utmost reluctance. "Are you sure about this?"  
"Yes!" Gwenevere gave him a playful look as she took the arrow from his hand. She broke off the head from the rest of the projectile and plopped it directly into her mouth. Gwenevere toyed the arrowhead around her mouth a bit first with her tongue, as if trying to gauge the flavor.  
Then, she bit down.  
There were a few popping sounds from within her mouth, accompanied by the occasional stretchy, wet noises of fresh moss finding her stomach. The thief looked over his apprentice worriedly.  
"Doesn't that...hurt?" He winced. Just watching her chew and crunch effortlessly through the glass casing of the moss arrowhead was making him uncomfortable.  
"Naw! I've chewed through tougher substances. Bone, for instance." Gwenevere giggled mid-chew.  
Garrett looked like he might be ill. He didn't even want to think about that.  
"Uh-hum. Taste good?"  
"It's alright. A bit weak, not much body. But alright." The nymph smiled, revealing a mouthful of teeth, some of which had a few splotches of moss residue upon them.  
Garrett shook his head.  
"Didn't know you were a connoisseur of fine weaponry, Gwenevere."  
"Huh?" Gwenevere wiped her mouth.  
"Nothing." He smirked. "Come on, let's go back to Sophie's."

The moment Sophie saw Gwenevere come through the door, a wave of powerful relief washed over her person. On the verge of becoming exasperated, the middle-aged woman crossed her arms.

"Young lady? What exactly do you think grounded means?" She joked, though it was clear to Garrett that she was far more tense than she appeared. Gwenevere shrugged.  
"I've never been grounded before, I didn't know the rules. Sorry." She offered. Sophie took a step towards her, parting her lips to speak. But no words followed.

"Well, let me just say this; you stay here from now on. Gwenevere, you know I love you like a daughter, but sweetie...you've got a nasty habit for getting into trouble. We don't want you to become a ne'er-do-well like Basso."  
Upon hearing his sister's jab, the boxman glared at her.  
"Gee, thanks!"  
"Anytime brother. I know how much you revel in the spotlight."  
"Makes an ass of himself's more like it..." Garrett grumbled under his breath.  
Basso chuckled half-heartedly and shook his head.

"One would never guess we're related, Soph."

"And thank gods for that!" She chided him.

Basso relaxed his posture back against the worn piece of furniture. He looked the thief and the nymph up and down in a nonchalant manner.

"So, where'd you go this time girly?"

"Umm, I followed a wisp. She led me to this Keyper guy. He was really nice." Gwenevere smiled.

The mention of Keepers immediately caused the boxman to direct his attention to Garrett, who had his own eyes firmly planted on the floor.

"Uh-huh." Basso nodded warily. "That's err...that's nice...I guess..."

"Yup! I'm gonna be his helper!" The nymph's grin widened.  
"I-I beg your pardon?!" Sophie interrupted. "Garrett, what do you mean she's helping the Keepers?!"

The thief, who was just as shocked by Gwenevere's reveal as the siblings, stood up straight. He stared at Sophie, silently demanding to know why she blamed every one of the flighty nymph's blunders on him.

Then, he turned his attention back on Gwenevere.

"Is this true?" He demanded.  
"Yes..." She replied weakly.  
"Well why the hell didn't you tell me back in the mines?!"

Before Gwenevere could think up a response, Sophie was shouting at Garrett again.

"Oh, such a surprise, isn't it? Withholding valuable information that really needs to be shared; I wonder where she learned that one huh?" The boxman's sister crossed her arms with a huff.

Garrett ignored her.

"Gwenevere, this is serious! I've already told you that Mcclay has nothing honorable planned for you. At most benign, he'll use you to his own ends. That's what Keepers do."

"I'm sorry Garrett; I only didn't tell you because I don't know what to do!"

Garrett rubbed his throbbing temples and sighed.

"That's the REASON you tell me these things. So I can HELP you figure out what to do about them."

Basso stared at his mate and propped his cheek against his fist, watching Garrett with an interested smile. Garrett stared back.

"What is it now Basso?"  
"A bit, sporadic there, huh Garrett? Geez, what's that all about?"  
"What do you think? She's speaking with the Keepers!" The thief glowered down at the little nymph. "And apparently, getting herself into even more trouble than I had initially assumed."

Gwenevere's eyes flew open, their celadon sparkle colliding with his unyielding metal gaze.

"I-it all happened so fast, and he said he could help me find out who I am!"

"Empty promises can be used to buy full ones. Never forget that." The thief spoke in a low, gravely tone.

"Look Garrett. If ya wanna keep the dame away from this Keeper bloke, and anyone else who might wanna cause her harm, then why not just follow through with our little plan?"

"Keyper Mcclay doesn't wanna hurt m-"

"-You mean the disguise thing Basso?" Garrett cut her off. Gwenevere huffed.

"Yeah, that! Just have her dye her hair and change her clothes. I dunno if nymphs can do this or not, but maybe if you can manage it Gwennie, change your eye color using magic er, somethin'." The boxman shrugged.

A look of inspiration suddenly found Garrett's tired face.

"Of course!"

"Of course what?"

"Basso, Gwenevere's a nymph! All nymphs have a human disguise to fall back on." He turned around and looked the young woman over. "Gwenevere, if you could just warp into your human form whenever you're out around the city, then this should be easy!"

He smirked, feeling as a load of stress was drained from his body. Gwenevere blushed wildly.

"Umm, Garrett?"

"Yes Gwenevere?"

"I-I'm afraid I can't do that." She peeped.

"What? Why not?"

The nymph looked up at him through wide, flustered eyes.

"This IS my human form. I've been in it all along. When I was still a goddess, my true form was that of the wood beast, and then later the dragon after Heleana corrupted it with the Primal shard she forced into my chest. But yes, what you've been seeing this entire time...was my human disguise..."

Her announcement caused the room to go quiet. All eyes were on her now, although those of the worldly thief were perhaps the widest. Garrett was completely paralyzed. A discomforting coldness was all that he could feel in that moment.

This creature had been assuming humanity the entire time. He had shared secrets with her that had been withheld from all others. He had loved her, cared for her. Broken the very foundations of his credo to protect her.

Yet now, Garrett was faced with the knowledge that he had never seen her true face.

Finally, he managed to clear his thoughts of wonderment and address her.

"T-then what DO you look like Gwenevere?!" He gasped.

Gwenevere took a step back, obviously feeling overwhelmed by the question and reveal.

"I just want to go sleep." She whispered so softly that the others had to strain to hear her. Gwenevere pushed her way out of Garrett's grasp and sped down the hall.

"Gwenevere!" The thief called out, in a futile attempt to stop her as she fled the room.

But to no avail.


	23. Chapter 23

THE CITY:  
EIGHT MONTHS AGO:  
_She was cold, her body twinged with unspoken loneliness and hidden desire. Gwenevere watched as the head of the gargoyle outside the clocktower window grew glassy with rain. She sighed in a weak attempt to keep herself from sobbing. _  
_It was going to be a very long night._  
_The ruby-haired nymph traced the curve of her hip. She was so alone here; so frightened. But this was all she had left. It was either share this abandoned building with a criminal, or die in the putrid city streets below. _  
_Gwenevere shook her head._  
_"No! He's not a criminal! He's one of the most clever and wonderful people I've ever known." She spoke aloud in spite of her current forlornness. Her smile glimmered like starlight, accompanied by rolling thunder overhead. _  
_How lonely was she? Now she was speaking to herself?!_  
_"By the Trickster, this is crazy..." The young woman murmured._  
_Suddenly a loud clash of electricity struck the clocktower, sending ravens swooping frantically past the terrified young woman. Gwenevere let out a startled cry, cowering in her spot atop the bend in the stairway. _  
_Garrett jolted awake, looking around half-blind and half-asleep. _  
_"What?! What the hell'd you do this time Gwenevere?!" He murmured, sitting up in bed. As the waking world found his tired face, a slight whimper caused him to look off to the side. _  
_It was Gwenevere._  
_She was cowering like a frightened child, quaking in defeated desperation. _  
_Garrett huffed silently. He was annoyed to have been awoken, but also genuinely concerned over what terrors had befallen his new trainee._  
_Reluctantly, he stood from the bed._  
_"Gwenevere." His voice was like a reassuring beacon, purging through the uncertain darkness to find her. To lead her to safety. _  
_The young woman looked up, tears still sliding down her face._  
_He was before her now, although Gwenevere had not heard his footsteps upon the creaky wood floor. _  
_"Garrett? I'm sorry."_  
_"For what, Gwenevere?" The thief asked, more or less still annoyed. _  
_"I woke you up." She peeped._  
_"Yes. That's usually what happens when you scream around sleeping people." He shot her a perturbed look. "Something must have spooked you. Mind telling me what it was?"_  
_"I..." Gwenevere gulped down a wad of bitter tension. "I don't like loud noises. Or storms."_  
_"It's the city. Get used to it or leave." He remarked coldly, masking his growing interest and to a lesser extent, concern for her._  
_Gwenevere's eyes widened._  
_"What?! But I can't go! I'm your student now; I made a commitment." _  
_"You didn't commit yourself kid. You begged. Basso bought your doe-eyed charms and paid me to train you, even though you clearly have no promise or motivation to become a thief." Garrett barked. "And just so you know, you're probably gonna get yourself killed."_  
_He turned away, leaving her stunned into silence. _  
_For a time._  
_As the thief settled down within his bed once more, her soft voice reached his ears._  
_"We're all gonna die one day." Her unexpected words caused Garrett to sit up from the dusty sheets._  
_"What did you just say?"_  
_"I said, death finds us all eventually. But it's what we choose to do before we die that matters. If I go out trying to help people, trying to steal bread for a mother and her children who can't eat...then that will be enough for me. I'll know I lived a good life." _  
_Garrett stared transfixed upon her, hardly believing how noble this girl really was. _  
_"Gwenevere. You don't have to die." He finally managed._  
_"What?"_  
_"If you listen to me, if you learn to do this right. I can keep you alive."_

THE CITY:  
PRESENT DAY:  
He found her in the guest room, curled up on the bed. There was a pile of freshly folded laundry atop it, and Gwenevere clung to those warm sheets as she wept. Garrett approached her, a look of genuine worry written within his bi-colored eyes. He had seldom seen Gwenevere this upset. She cried a lot, yes, and like others of her kind she tended to be a very emotional creature.  
But now, she was sobbing and trembling so violently; as if someone had hurt her.  
The thief knew her mannerisms; all too well. She was more than just a person to him; but rather a fluid energy that only he had mastered. Garrett slowly approached her bedside. Pilfur was laying next to the nymph, simply curled up against Gwenevere's quivering form. He looked up at the thief, his green eyes glowing through the darkness.  
Turning around, Garrett cautiously closed the door behind him.  
"Gwenevere?" He cleared his throat. Gwenevere looked up at him through puffy red eyes and sniffed.  
"Go away Garrett." She demanded. The thief stood firm. Even if it was his beloved nymph, no one told him what to do.  
"Not until you tell me what happened in there." He countered, crossing his arms.  
"I-I ran out of there..." Gwenevere began to toy with her hair, running a piece of it through her fingers. "...because you asked what my true form looks like. I got embarrassed."  
"Why?"  
"Because Garrett. I always stays in my human form, for good reason."  
"And what reason would that be?"  
"I can't show you! I'm ugly!" She blurted. Garrett wrapped his arm around her shoulder. It wasn't in a romantic way, but rather the way one would console an upset friend.  
"Gwenevere, I will respect your privacy," He leaned in closer, his breath hot and passionate as he whispered, "but never think for a second that I could ever find you ugly."  
The little nymph's eyes flew open. She turned to Garrett and stared at him through an intense expression. Garrett returned her stare. His expression was, oddly, both intense and nonchalant.  
"Garrett," she started, but a lump in her throat made it hard to continue. Garrett touched her trembling shoulder again and she gulped down her tension. Gwenevere's voice was quiet yet still shaking slightly, even though her gaze was steady, "are you willing, truly willing...to see my true form?"  
He answered her by clasping her cheek and holding it firmly.  
"Look at me, my Gwenevere. It's all right. I'm not about to force you to do anything you don't want to."  
She took a deep breath. Then, Gwenevere stood from the bed and walked in front of the situated man before her. Blocking Garrett's exit, she grasped his gloved hands. Tears streamed from her eyes as he looked into her. Gwenevere breathed in a deep whiff of his smokey essences.  
Then, she dropped her disguise.  
Gwenevere blinked as the spell diminished. The thief could not help but be overwhelmed. His jaw dropped a little as he looked her over. Eventually, he looked into her glassy eyes with unspoken shock. It left him wondering as to why she had hidden such a captivating form from him to begin with. There was a wildness about her now, an untamed danger that banished all innocence from her person, filling the thief with both an uncontrollable lust and fear.  
Her skin no longer held its pale and smooth complexion, but rather was a leafy green. Her hair had changed from ruby red to a shimmering wave of dark burgundy. Only her eyes remained the same; glimmering like a stormy sea of green and gold luster.  
Unsure of herself, Gwenevere looked at him, a bit confused.

"This is...this is who I really am. My true form. Do you like it? I-I would understand completely if you don't want me anymore..." Gwenevere finally spoke, once again close to tears.

Garrett looked at her, stunned.

"Gwenevere, how could you possibly think that I would find this form unappealing?"

Before she could answer, he stood from the bed and wrapped his arms around her tightly.

"You are the most beautiful sight I have ever laid eyes on. An exquisite creature, regardless of what form you choose to take." He replied solemnly.

Her wild gaze tore into him. Before he could speak again, a deep rooted feeling burst forth with primeval prowess. Her firm lips pressed deeply into his, and the manfool surrendered to the nymph's ravenous, feverish passions.


	24. Chapter 24

KEEPER COMPOUND:  
23 YEARS AGO:

_ Artemus looked up expectantly from his novel as the door to his chambers was slammed open. In the doorway stood a young man, barely out of teenhood. His hazel eyes were brimming with rage. His hand was firmly planted against the door, shoulders sulking. Each breath he heaved from his chest released another waft of hot air. _

_Furious, uncontrollable hot air._

_"Ah Garrett. Won't you come in?" Artemus remarked sarcastically. _  
_"Why the hell didn't you tell me?!" The young man demanded._  
_"Tell you what, exactly?" _

_ The older Keeper began to once again become absorbed within his tome. Garrett's eyes narrowed at this. In heated frenzy, he stormed over and plucked the book from his mentor's position, slamming it down hard atop the desk to gain his intrigue. _

_It worked. _

_"They plan to make me into an Enforcer! One of those nameless, faceless killers! Why the hell didn't you tell me!? Was this your plan all along? Train me up and then use me like some hand-reared dog?!"_

_Artemus was very silent for a moment, allowing Garrett to see the disappointment and bitter weight that he carried behind his stern expression. Finally, he just sighed._

_"When you came to us, when I took you in...I spoke the truth. You have talent, and yes, the Keepers have need of that talent." He looked his furious student dead in the eyes. "Remember this, young Garrett. I did not take you in due to charity. You are going down a dangerous road young man. First Keeper Xavier tells me that three more objects turned up missing from the grounds, only to be discovered in YOUR room."_  
_"Yeah, so?" The youth snapped._  
_"You act as though this turn of events was unseen. Let me make this clear Garrett; there is no such thing as an unseen event for those whose eyes are unclouded and whose souls and hearts are balanced in time with the universe."_  
_"'Balanced in time with the universe'? Look Artemus, I didn't come here for more lessons, or to hear that crazy Keeper talk. I came here, to find out why you didn't think this was any of my concern!"_  
_"Because frankly, it's not. We have all felt a growing concern for your future, and after long debate on how best to handle your growing recklessness, the council has spoken. Listen to me Garrett. Becoming an Enforcer will set you on the right path. It will purify your mind and make you balanced again."_  
_"You mean, by brainwashing me? Taking away my name, giving me telepathy, and forcing me to kill people for you?!" Garrett was now past the point of forgiveness. His mind had already severed what his actions had yet to do. "This is MY life, and I'll do whatever the hell I want with it..." _

_He started to leave in a manner which inevitably conveyed his departure to Artemus. _

_"Garrett. You are correct, my son. Leave the Keeper Compound but know this; the world beyond these walls poses a far greater risk to you than you realize." _

_ Garrett looked over his shoulder, once again standing in the doorway. Weathered grey eyes pleaded behind wrinkled curtains that the youth rethink this spontaneous decision. But as the teacher soon realized, perhaps had even known all along; his student was very stubborn. _

_"I'd rather live my life with the knife at my throat, than become someone else's puppet."_

_With that, Garrett gave the door a hard slam._

_This was the last time Keeper Artemus would speak to his pupil...for a year's time._

THE CITY:  
PRESENT DAY:

The thief stretched his legs with a groan, disrupting the silence of night. Garrett nearly smirked at the look of displeasure written within Pilfur's green glare, as the feline watched him from across the room.

"You didn't have to watch." He mumbled, standing from the bed.

Gwenevere was asleep now, her nude body rising and falling as she dreamt. Tiny flowers and sprigs of ivy danced and intertwined across her flesh, as if reacting to the pleasure she had been experiencing minutes earlier.

He eased the door open, so as not to cause the tired wood to creak, then took his leave.

"About time!" Basso's jovial voice nearly caused Garrett to jump.  
"What are you still doing here Basso? It's late." Garrett scratched his head of messy dark hair.

The boxman's grin expanded.

"Well, what'd ya expect?"  
"What's that supposed to mean?" Garrett looked around expectantly. "And where's Sophie?"  
"She left. It's her nightshift down at the tavern." Basso reached for a day-old newspaper. "Of course, her shift doesn't start for another hour."  
"Then, why'd she leave?" The thief inquired. Basso looked up from his paper with a look of utter bemusement.  
"Seriously? Listen Garrett, I know what they say about the 'quiet' ones. Mute in the streets, loud in the sheets, but I've gotta say; I ain't never expected those noises ta come outta you."  
"Can we talk about something else?" He turned away, his posture growing uncomfortable and stiff.  
"Yeah, yeah sure. It's just, you did kinda ask."  
"Forget it." Garrett snapped.  
"Alright, alright! Geez, touchy!" Basso shook his head. "Hey, just so you know, I'd be loud too if I was taffin' it up with-"  
"-Basso! Just stop, alright?" Garrett retorted. The boxman smiled.  
"Sure thing. Look, I was kinda curious about something."  
"Ask your next words very carefully." Garrett stared at him.  
"Naw, it ain't about...that. It's about that Keeper bloke, what was his name? Mckay?"  
"Mcclay. What about him?"

Basso leaned forward in his chair, sliding the newspaper across the slick surface of the coffee table. He looked up at the thief with a very concerned look.

"You don't think he's up to something, don't you?"  
"Of course I do Basso. Mcclay reeks of trouble. Besides, you of all people should know why I don't trust the Keepers."

The room grew unnaturally silent, both men directing their attention to the soft patterned carpet beneath their feet. Garrett began pacing, stopping short before the window, still dripping with rain. The thief stared out over the soaked streets below, listened to the sounds of the storm.

"I know from past experience, that if the Keepers wanted me for something, they would start following me around. Heckling me. Asking for dangerous favors because they were too good to get their hands dirty." He eyed the boxman over his shoulder. "But they didn't come to me. They came to Gwenevere. And that really pisses me off."  
"I can imagine. You think that they might try and...you know, use her the way they did you? I can see where you're coming from." He shrugged. "Unlike you, the gal's morally defined. She's a goodie-goodie who has a strong desire to selflessly aid the less fortunate. Plus, she's too naive to ask important questions and too innocent to know what's what. Sounds like the perfect puppet ta me."

Garrett whirled around. His eyes widened, and hot anger poured itself into his veins.

"Gwenevere, IS NOT, a puppet. To anyone. Not anymore." He snarled.

Even though his mate's words were true, Garrett couldn't help but become aggressive at them. He'd witnessed first hand what the young woman had been put through. How she had been tormented by it.

Steadying his fury with a refreshing sigh, the thief allowed his arms to fall to the sides of his body.

"Look. She told me stories. Things that Simmons would do to her. How he would command her with that ruby; the Trickster's Foresight." The thief clenched his fists tightly.  
"Garrett..." Basso offered.  
"When you first sent her to me, I had never seen anyone so desperate in my entire life. She wanted to make things right, to fix mistakes that weren't even her doing. I've always been a very worldly person Basso. Even as a kid, I knew what was truth and what wasn't. I knew myself. I can't even imagine what it would be like to reside within the body of a complete stranger."

Basso stood and walked up to his friend. Garrett's shoulder's slumped as he felt the boxman's strong arm upon them.

"You were tough, stubborn. You had to learn who you were at a young age, or you wouldn't have survived. Most of us don't face that kind of pressure."

The thief answered his comfort with silence, eyes transfixed upon the foggy glass. He placed his palm against the window.

"I know you want to protect her. We all do. Sophie, Erin. As do your enemies. Heleana definitely knew, and she almost messed up your mind because of it."  
"What's your point?"  
"Give the gal some breathing room. I mean, hell's bells Garrett! She's a taffing wood nymph! Do you honestly think that most people would stand a chance around her if she got angry? You've seen what she can do."

Garrett turned around and stared disbelievingly at the boxman.

"So you think I should just let her visit with Mcclay? Basso are you insane?!"  
"Probably after all the shit I've seen. But seriously, just let her live her life." Basso smirked.  
"There are people out there who are trying to kill her even as we speak, and Mcclay could still be responsible. I see what you're trying to do Basso, but no. Until Gwenevere learns to survive on her own merit, I can't let her just go off to explore the city frivolously like that."

He started across the room towards the kitchen, the conversation over in his mind. But Basso followed after him, an air of disbelief shrouding his person.

"How the hell is she ever gonna learn to survive here if she never goes outside?" The boxman offered, dumbstruck by Garrett's twisted logic.  
"She goes outside. With me."  
"Yeah, uh-huh." Basso crossed his arms. "Did'ja ever stop and think that maybe she's in more danger stealin' stuff with you than she would be just goin' around town on her own?"  
"That's not open for discussion Basso." Garrett replied, entering the kitchen.  
"No, of course it's not..." Basso chuckled dryly under his breath.

The thief stopped before the kitchen window, where Gwenevere had left the three potted seeds. Two of them appeared to be sprouting, light green intermingled with a thin stalk of black on one, and brownish red on the other. Garrett frowned upon noticing that the third pot had yet to germinate.

_Shouldn't they all be growing at the same rate?_

"What'cha got there Garrett? Gwennie starting a little garden?" Basso joked, deciding to play along with his mate and drop the serious topic for the moment.  
"Sort of." Garrett murmured, filling one of Sophie's teacups with water from her kitchen sink.

He gingerly and shakily began to pour it evenly over the three pots. Basso watched him through intrigued, curious eyes.

"Heh, and it looks like she's got you doin' most of the work too. Typical woman. Even if she IS a nymph."  
"Nymphs aren't the same as people Basso." The thief countered. "They're far more complex. They don't question your ethics. They just exist freely, naturally." He ran his finger along the rim of the pots.

Basso ignored this, getting himself a cut of cheese from the counter, along with a few slices of bread.

"Uh-huh. An' you said they don't possess jealousy? If they let ya wear dirty clothes and drink yourself sick without complainin', then ask if Gwennie has any friends."  
"She's the last one, you know that."  
"Heh-heh, for the moment anyhow. But you'd best be careful my friend, or pretty soon yer gonna get more than ya bargained fer."  
"Meaning?" Garrett replaced the teacup back upon the shelf.  
"No sense in plantin' any seeds Garrett. I know you, and trust me; you ain't exactly a gardener."  
"Again, what are you talking about Basso?"  
"What I'm tryin' ta say is...look mate. Don't take it upon yourself to bring more nymphs into the world."

Basso began laughing, as if the entire situation had been a joke. Garrett looked away from the seeds with a firm, uncomfortable frown. Taking a bite of cheese, Basso examined this unexpected reaction curiously.

"Hey Garrett? You okay?"  
"Yeah. I know it's not my calling." He locked eyes with the boxman and prepared himself for whatever would transpire. "But here's the thing Basso. I already did."


	25. Chapter 25

"Well look who's here." A man's deep voice called to her from the shadows of The Overlord's Fancy. Erin blew a stand of dark hair from her eyes, biting her lip impatiently.  
"I've got what you asked for Ross."  
She heard a slight creak followed by some heavy footsteps before the proprietor of the underground casino stode into view. The man was easily one of the tallest Erin had seen, covered in thick muscles and dark tattoos. His head had been shaved, and although she couldn't be sure, it looked as though his left eye had been damaged in the past, and was possibly blind. The thug pulled a thick cigar away from his scarred lips, releasing a puff of foul smoke in the young woman's direction.  
"I didn't ask you fer anything." He growled. Erin slowly brought herself to laugh. She glared dangerously up at the giant, her blue eyes blazing with bitter arrogance.  
"Not specifically. But, I know you WANT something." She coaxed. Ross gave her a dirty grin.  
"Thought you were done whoring yerself out lass? Came to make an exception fer OI' Rossy? Can't say I blame ya; half of the wenches in the city can't wait ta-"  
"-A BURRICK EGG YOU DUNCE!" Erin cut him off sharply. Ross shook his head.  
"You been eavesdropping again?"  
"Maybe."  
"Best stop that luvvie. Might end out overhearing somefing that could get ya killed."  
"Do you want the egg, or not Ross?" Erin deflected. The man walked right up to her, so close that she could smell the smoke and blood on his clothing.  
"Show it." He grunted.  
With a smug grin, Erin unsnapped the strap of her knapsack. She threw open the flap and gasped.  
The egg was in tatters, sticky green mucus covering the inside of her pack and everything therein.  
Including, a slumbering baby burrick.  
"Uhhmmm..." She reached for the creature. Sensing the warmth of her hands, the creature awoke. It stared up at her through large black eyes, crooking it's head in a dog-like manner. The burrick licked its lips and cooed softly.  
"Huh?" Ross leaned forward to examine the baby. When he caught sight of the burrick staring adamantly up into Erin's face, he unleashed a disgruntled groan.  
"Damn it Erin! You should have gotten it here sooner! My brother and I can't buy it from you in this condition!" He raved.  
"What!? Why the hell not?! What's wrong with it?!" Erin retorted, looking the creature over for any sign of sickness or injury. Though she had a good idea that she would have no idea what she was looking for. The young woman wasn't exactly an expert on animals.  
_Where's that Pagan chick when you need her?_  
"Look, every taffer knows that once they hatch, burricks imprint on the first thing they see. In this case, that's you Erin. I couldn't take it now if I tried. It would never view me as master. Hell, it might try and kill me one day."

"Aww, COME ON! Do you punks know what it took to get it here?! I nearly got myself and someone close to me killed!"  
Before Ross could counter, a second voice rang out within the vicinity.  
"Erin darling, we have faith in your skills!" Ross's brother, Bernard, came into view. He was almost the exact opposite of his hulking brutish sibling. Well-dressed, organized, and quite posh. He pranced up to Erin and peered inside her knapsack. The burrick was still transfixed upon the young woman. "Besides, this little...girl, will make an excellent pet."  
"What?! Are you serious?!" She squawked.  
"Quite. Now be a good little assassin, and go retrieve another lovely egg. Remember, it has to hatch in front of us, else they'll imprint on you all over again. No eggs; no money for you."  
Erin begrudgingly closed the lid of her knapsack over the adoring baby. She bit her tongue until she could taste the blood.  
"I can't just go and get more. There were only three eggs, and if this one just hatched..."  
"Then I suppose you can just forget all of that wonderful money." Ross smirked.  
"Bastards..." She sneered, looking away from the two men.  
"That's no secret, my dear. Our father wasn't exactly a virgin, after all." Bernard chuckled. "At any rate, at least we know who our father is. Our REAL father..." He poisoned.  
Erin's eyes widened, trembling with enraged tears. She whirled around to face the snickering brothers.  
"I KNOW, who my father is..." She hissed.  
"I'm sure you don't mean that petty rat thief who left you to fall through the roof of the Northcrest Manor last year."  
Erin fell silent, glaring up at them.  
"Ooh, do cheer up. You're not nearly as pretty when you pout." Bernard took up her chin in his hand. A few stray tears were shaken free from her eyes. "Those luscious sapphires loose their luster. Their danger." She violently twisted her head free and turned to the side.  
"You ARE still dangerous, aren't you Erin?" Ross spoke up.  
"Keep taunting me and find out."  
"Well that's good!" Ross's stare grew intense. "Because we may just have another way for you to get that burrick money."  
"Huh?" Erin looked up expectantly.  
"Word on the street says that that prat Hammerite priest is offering up a limitless bounty for some Gwenevere Simmons tart. They say he wants her dead because she's really a wood nymph." Bernard explained, causing Erin's heart to skip a beat.  
"Limitless? How's that supposed to work?" She scoffed, trying to mask her horror.  
"Well, according to the little birdy what told me so, the killer names their price, and the father pays." Ross added.  
"Nobles." She shook her head, still slowly stroking the burrick from within the knapsack. "Don't they get it? There's no such thing as 'limitless'. Everything has a price."  
"Yeah, so name yours." Ross grinned at her.  
"Huh?" Erin was completely blindsided by the devious request. The two brothers progressed dangerously close to her person, blocking her from the exit.  
"Word on the street also says that you know this tree bitch personally. So what's it gonna cost me ta get a little pruning done?" Ross leaned in closer, examining her face.  
"I can't." Erin snapped quickly, eyes transfixed upon her bulging knapsack. Both men burst out in cruel laughter.  
"Because you know her? Are you really so attached Erin? Didn't Nessa teach you-"  
"-Yes. She did." Erin sighed, pushing her way through. She faced Ross with an intense, angry stare. "But she's not around to tell me what to do now. How to do my job."  
"And who's to blame for that?"  
Erin ground her teeth at this. She squeezed her eyes closed as the pain ripped across her chest. Collecting herself, she looked up slowly, glaring at her tormenter.  
"Screw off, Ross." Her words prompted him to viciously seize her arm and force her up against the wall of the casino. Bernard's eyes narrowed as he reached up and graced her trembling cheek with his index finger, slowly bringing it down her slender throat. Erin struggled to free herself, but the giant held her firm.  
"Listen Nightingale, there ain't no room in your job description for mercy. Do I have to remind you how this little business arrangement works? You swore allegiance to the Downwinders. We own your sorry hide now. So unless you want to go back to whoring yourself out at the House of Blossoms, you don't really have a choice, now do you?"  
"Bernard...give me another job. Anyone else." She pleaded.  
"Either whore or assassin dear. That's what you signed up for. That's what keeps your carcass out of the gutter. Or alive, for that matter." He sneered. Erin stared up at him.  
"Is that a threat?!"  
"It's not a threat Erin; it's a promise." He turned his back to her, prompting Ross to release her from his grasp. "I'll give you twenty-four hours to decide whether you want to be holding a dagger or some noble's John Thomas for the remainder of your career with us. Given your history, it shouldn't be too hard to decide. I heard what happened with the Thief-Taker General. Everyone did."  
"You bastard-" She hissed. Bernard chuckled at the agonized rage in her voice.  
"-Have a pleasant evening, sweetheart. Now get out."


	26. Chapter 26

Basso's laughter rang through the small apartment like gunpowder. Of all the surprises his old friend had dropped on him over the years, this was by far the most unexpected. Yet strangely, the one that brought him the most relief.

"What?! Mind running that one by me again Garrett?" The thief sighed out of annoyance.  
"I told you. When I replanted her, I accidentally planted the three seeds as well."  
"Huh. So no direct deposit into the First Bank of Gwennie then? Garrett, I'm surprised at you." The boxman teased. Garrett was far from amused. "Eh, we'll get there soon enough. But seriously, I never thought you'd go that far with her mate. I'm glad ta see you actin' normal fer a change. Way ta go!"  
"So, you think Sophie's gonna freak?" The thief decided to change the subject.  
"Tch, you kidding?! She'll go nuts! Between you and me, lil' sis has always wanted a kid of her own."  
"Figured as much." Garrett shook his head.  
"Yeah, well...Not to change the subject, but I recently received this for ya. With all the drama goin' on this evenin' I almost forgot ta hand it over."

Basso's voice trailed off as he reached for his satchel and pulled out a creased white letter. There was a blood-red wax seal atop it, baring the mark of two crossed swords over an eye. The boxman handed Garrett the envelope. The rogue curiously broke the wax seal and began reading:

_Dear Mister Garrett,_

_It has come to my attention that you possess a certain skill set that my people and I would be very interested in seeing in action. I also hear that you have very close personal connections to a she-mage. Her abilities to fade and cast dark nature magic have also piqued my curiosity. My name is...well, for now you may call me Mr. Blank. I run a small operation in Skinmarket, and I would be very interested in speaking with the both of you. Hiring you. Should you be intrigued, please meet me at the Siren's Rest on the 16th of May at 10:00 PM. Be sure to bring this signed letter, or things may get a bit...messy..._

_Sincerely yours,_

_-X_

When he was finished, Garrett set the letter down upon the mantel and frowned.

"Why would they send a letter for me to you?" He asked Basso.  
"I dunno. Perhaps it's your lack of a physical address." The middle-aged pauper chided. "But whoever they are, they know about your connection ta Gwennie. If they know that, then they already know too much about you. That's never a good thing, especially with someone who signs their name with an X. A trap, perhaps?"  
"Or maybe it's just a friendly job offer, who knows?" Garrett added dryly.  
"Well either way, be careful how you proceed."  
"Yeah." The thief remarked, exiting the living room. "Don't have to tell me twice Basso."

Garrett opened the door to the guest room softly, so as not to wake Gwenevere. But as he began looking around the darkened bedroom, he spotted her sitting atop the bed. Catching the light from the hallway out the corner of her eye, the young woman turned around.

"Hi!" She greeted as the thief opened the door wider, illuminating her face. Shortly after, he stepped back in surprise.

Gwenevere was back within her human form. However, her face looked anything but. Her long hair was now a vibrant mix of neon rainbows and sparkles. Her eyes were orange and brown, and there was a sickly hue of purple dancing across her cheeks.

"What the hell did you do to your face!?" The thief demanded. Gwenevere giggled with pride.  
"Well, I woke up and started thinking about what you and Basso told me about disguises. You said that I should disguise my looks to the best of my ability, right? So, I did! Using my magic, I decided to play around with a few colors. Betcha couldn't even recognize me at first, hee-hee!"

Garrett contained his flabbergasted outburst and calmed himself tremendously before addressing the girl again. He shook his head with the slightest of groans.

"No Gwenevere. Ya've got me there. Not even the Trickster himself could recognize you now, and do you know why Gwenevere?" He exhaled a long, stressed sigh.  
"Because I look so different?"  
"Yeah, different. Bright, multi-color hair and..." He winced as he looked into her oozing swirl of brown and orange neon eyes. "Whatever you were going for there..."

Garrett abruptly cleared his throat, tugging at the neckline of his cloak.

"Is...is something wrong?" Gwenevere crooked her head ever so slightly.

Garrett leaned his arm against the wooden beam of the doorway, and rested his forehead atop his wrist.

"The purpose of a disguise, is usually to make one blend in to their surroundings. It kinda defeats the purpose of blending when you stick out like a wildfire on an open plain." He offered.  
"Then, what should I do?"  
"Use your magic to conjure more common hair and eye colors. Maybe dark hair and blue eyes?"  
"Okay..." Gwenevere sighed, but reluctantly changed her appearance. Her hair became a shimmering wave of dark brunette, and her eyes were now as blue as a stormy sea. "How's this?" She smiled up at her mentor.  
"It'll do. At least now you can go outside again. But remember Gwenevere, this requires magic. So you'll need to consume plant essences far more often to keep this new disguise going. For now, you can drop it. But recreate the illusion whenever you're out and about."  
"Yay! I can't wait to go back and help Keyper Mcclay!" She clapped her hands.  
"No. Gwenevere, you need to remain undetected. I've already explained that you can't be hanging around with Keepers, or running about the city without me." Garrett replied harshly.

The little nymph huffed and crossed her thin arms.

"But I thought you just said that I could go outside again." She pouted, casting her large blue eyes up to meet his own. But the stern thief was immune.  
"I did. To resume your training. Tonight."

ABANDONED HOME:  
LATER THAT EVENING:

Racing through the muggy midnight streets, the thief and the nymph gallivanted through the night. Upon reaching the abandoned house he used for training sessions, Garrett turned the rust-covered doorknob, and entered the old residence.

Gwenevere followed after, and was surprised at how very little dust and cobwebs covered the entryway. The room they were in was dark, save for a few sparse rays of moonlight. Dirt and grime clung to the double pained windows, and there was a copious amount covering the floor.

Turning to face his apprentice, Garrett began to speak.

"Gwenevere, to be open to perception, you must first clear your mind. I want you to try and concentrate."

He produced a blindfold and came around to her back. She stiffened as he tied the cloth firmly around her eyes. As his hands worked the slender knots, Garrett felt this.

"Don't be nervous. You're safe." Gwenevere's body softened.

The thief's words had been anything but romantic, not a shred of affection laced their rough syllables. But in her moment of emptiness and need, they were exactly what the young woman needed to hear from him.

Once the blindfold was properly affixed to her eyes, Garrett backed away, and watched her. She was still, silently waiting for his instruction.

"Gwenevere, stealth is largely a mental activity. Your mind must be free of aggressive intention and thought for you to perform this function properly. Silence your mind, because what the mind feels, the body will imitate."  
"How do I do that?" She asked, nervous to be left temporarily blinded.

The pang of unease in her voice nearly prompted the thief to undo her cover, but his intention to train her proved stronger.

From behind again, he reached out for her. As his warm hands found the back of her neck, Gwenevere shrieked and leapt upright. Garrett winced, feeling as the muscles in her delicate neck tightened. Then he began to mold the knots, running his slender fingers across her neck to meet her shoulders.

Gwenevere gasped, but slowly began to relax under his touch. Reaching forward, the thief cradled her cheekbone between his thumb and index fingers and moved in to the third most delicate spot on the nymph body. Her ear.

"What this means is that your mind must be alert to what is happening around you without any anxiety of being detected. This anxiety will inadvertently lead to mistakes in judgment. This is why you have always gotten caught in the past Gwenevere." He ended her name by lacing hot breath around her unguarded ear canal. She shuddered. "A true thief must simply be confident in their training, knowing they have been prepared to deal with every contingency. But relaxation must always come before preparation. Ease your mind Gwenevere..."

He ran his hands back along her shoulders and back. Garrett closed his eyes.

"...There is nothing left for you to fear..."

With that, he broke away, releasing her from his strong hands. The little nymph took in a deep, cleansing breath. She calmed herself, the sensation of his fingertips still blazing across her flesh like lightning. Gwenevere centered herself, feeling as her extremities grew heavy, rooted to the floor.

As she continued to deep breathe, Garrett watched her. Examining her maneuvers and mannerisms. It was still far to early for him to tell what she was thinking. Feeling. But she was relaxing.

"Are you centered, Gwenevere?" He finally spoke to her, softly, so as not to disrupt her concentration.

She answered him with no movement, her words level and her tone surprisingly more mature.

"I am ready."  
"Then...come find me!" He commanded, darting off into the surrounding darkness.

Gwenevere smiled with reserved determination. Taking one last deep, meditating breath, she began searching the darkness. That's when they took over. Suddenly she knew what Garrett had meant by the other senses sharpening in place of that which was disabled.

The wooden floor beneath her bare toes grew far more tactile and detailed than Gwenevere had ever remembered it being. Her ears twitched and perked at the sound of the thief scuffling through shadows, and she turned towards it. Garrett's eyes shone from the darkness, and an unseeable grin found the corners of his mouth.

_Yes. That's it, my Gwenevere. Use your senses to your advantage._

She breathed in steadily. Keeping her focus as tight as she could. She could hear Garrett run across the floor. It surprised her how much better her ears perceived sound in lack of vision. They perked upward as she heard him duck into the shadows just beyond her. Gwenevere grinned.

He wanted her to find him.

She spun, her body coming down against the floor. Gwenevere felt the wood beneath her palms, tasted the mold and decay all around her. Pressing her ear against the floor, she began to listen for any clues as to where Garrett might be hiding.

But she found none.

Turning up her nose, she began to smell for him. The nymph didn't even know if this would work. She knew what he smelled like, but she doubted her nose was strong enough to seek him out. Reasoning that this wasn't helping, Gwenevere went back to using her ears.

That's when she heard it.

A steady rhythm of breath coming from just overhead in the rafters.

In a quick, agile movement, Gwenevere sent her vines upward. Garrett sprinted away to the next beam in the roofing. She didn't catch him, but the tips of her extremities found his body.

Again, she listened. She heard as his form landed against another rafter. She waited, looking around in order to feign confusion. After about five minutes of this, it worked. Garrett sighed in frustration from his seat above her head.

Unprepared for the vines that found him.

With a powerful jolt, he was seized and pulled down to her. Gwenevere stood just beneath him, allowing him to land atop her. She ground her teeth as she braced his fall. It was less painful than she'd expected. The next sensation she felt, was the blindfold being lifted from her eyes.

Garrett was straddled atop her now, smiling at her accomplishment.

"You did very well this evening."


	27. Chapter 27

If one thing could be said about Lord Simmons' widow, it was that she had certainly put his wealth towards the finer things. Derik Garrison now found himself before the enormous double doors of her Summer estate. The heavy redwood structures towered above him, monolithic carved structures varnished to the enth degree.

The Hammerite commander shuffled his boots nervously as he awaited a voice from the other side. The Lady was supposed to be expecting him, yet no attempt had been made to respond to his vigilant braying.

"Hello? My Lady Lilithia?" Derik called out in his most authoritative voice. He pounded upon the great doors again, awaiting an answer.

"Commander Garrison I presume?" A female voice rang from the opposite side of the obstruction.

"Yes! I come on behalf of Father Volkorn, with a message of the highest importance!" The commander called back.

There was a moment of silence, the wind gently caressing the tips of the wavering branches above his head.

"Men! Please, do open the gates for our most prestigious guest!" The female voice commanded again.

There was some brief conversation muttered overhead. Then, slowly, the doors opened with a low rumble.

The inner grounds were far larger than the commander had been told. Derik could see the large estate further up the winding path of green trees and marble statues, but it was far from the only building situated on the property.

Among several steel cages, there was a very large building that stood in the center of the gardens. The entire estate was enclosed by a large golden fence, which was easily forty feet high. The twisted metal was ended at the top by a covered roof.

The commander gawked in disturbed wonderment.

This entire area...it was essentially a giant cage.

A trill of terror ran down his usually brazen spine upon hearing sudden strange roars and howls from deep within.

"Commander?"

The same female voice now purred to him, sweet as silken honey. Derik looked up to none other than Lady Lilithia herself.

"M'lady! Tis' an honest pleasure to finally meet you at last."  
"Oh, of course it is dearie!"

Lilithia flicked a strand of soft brown hair behind her shoulder. She held out her hand expectantly for the commander, which he graciously took. He planted a small kiss upon her hand, then straightened his posture.

"You charm me, commander." She smirked. "So, I trust you have good news regarding my case with the High Priest? That incompetent boob Woksworth never came back to tell me himself."

Desperate for anything that would dissuade his mind from the horrors of Timothy Woksworth's fate, he once again turned to observing the golden enclosure surrounding him. It was upon his second inspection, that the commander noticed the large, six foot spires protruding from the enclosed ceiling.

"What are the spikes for?" He asked.  
"To keep the beasts of my menagerie confined. They usually don't try anything, but every now and again one will get the idea that it wants to try and escape. The late Baron Northcrest's law demands that I put in a spiked ceiling to keep them from getting loose." The lady explained in a teasing tone.  
"So, wait a minute...just what kind of beasts are we talking about?" Derik instinctively reached for the hammer slung behind his back.  
"Oh, don't wet your britches commander. My babies wouldn't harm a fly. Most of the time, that is..." Lilithia chided him. "But come. Let us discuss the matters of your report over brunch."

Commander Derik's nervousness was apparent as he broke into his poached egg. The lady of the manor took a drink of hot tea and then smiled.

"So, what did the holy father decree? Will he overthrow my foolish late husband's will?"

With some trouble, the commander swallowed the mushy bit of egg in his mouth. He stared into Lady Lilithia's demanding green eyes.

"My lady, it brings me no such pleasure to tell you this. Father Volkorn has outright refused to get involved. Furthermore, your most trusted attorney is a confessed Pagan ally."

Lilithia shook her head with a soft chuckle.

"Figures as much. Old drip. Very well. It seems that I shall be going through my more tedious, oversea channels to fix this mess." She groaned, a pout adorning her pale pink lips. "Oh, and by the way, Woksworth is NOT a Pagan. He's a child, barely capable of anything more than practicing law." She chucked, reaching for an apple from across the table.

"Or perhaps, he has been deceiving you." Derik countered.

Upon hearing his retort, she retracted her slender fingers from the ripe fruit, instead choosing to trace it's stem with a polished purple fingernail. Lady Lilithia locked eyes with the Hammerite across from her.

"Level with me commander. He confessed this to you how? Under torture?" Her playful grin expanded at his unease.  
"Perhaps."  
"All due respect, commander, but you cannot honestly trust the accuracy of a confession given under such circumstances. People will say anything to make the torture stop, after all." She relinquished a cruel laugh.  
"Life has never been what I would describe as 'accurate', Lady Lilithia. It is constantly changing, adapting. And so are they. The Pagans are unfortunately a rather crafty bunch."  
"Tell me commander. Do you truly believe that? Are you truly so lost in your self-righteous crusade that it has blinded you to fact?"

Derik allowed a heavy sigh to leave his lips before replying to her weighty question.

"Lady Lilithia. Truth be told, I am a man of logic, and yes. I do indeed see a flaw in the High Priest's latest string of reasoning. Allow me to level with you, for I can keep up this act no longer! Father Volkorn...I fear he has gone mad..."  
"My! That's a rather impertinent accusation!" She huffed. "What caused you to spew such vile gossip?"  
"Wood alone is not evil. Raw wood was as much one of the Builder's tools as the hammer or the anvil. It can be constructed into great things, such as parts of our beloved Fort Ironwood."  
"And you're telling me this why?"

Her latest question caused the commander to become noticeably disturbed and edgy. He sat straight up in the chair and met her condescending stare with one of utmost disgust.

"Because your attorney was tortured and sent to work the Hammerite mines for life, all because he was wearing a simple wooden mask."  
"W-what?!" Lady Simmons gasped, her face growing pale with disbelief. "So he lives, only to suffer a blasphemer's fate?! This is unbelievable! Timothy was a good, religious boy. A stupid one, but still...he did not deserve this..."  
"I was there. I saw the look in the eyes of my men. Not one of us believed him Pagan. However, we had our orders under Father Volkorn. We Hammerites must always be on the lookout for Pagan influence most foul. But I am starting to wonder just how much of this influence the High Priest actually sees. Make no mistake; I revere the High Priest, as do we all. However, I fear there may be a gear loose within his reasoning mind."  
"Is there a way to stop his madness?"  
"I fear not m'lady. At least not at the moment. Even as we speak, he has decreed a purge unto both the forest and the city. He will stop at nothing to find the last of the nymphs now, or any who he suspects of Pagan or Grower influence. By this time tomorrow, the city streets shall run with blood; both of wretched Pagan, and unfortunate innocent. There is nothing anyone can do to prevent that. Not anymore." The Hammerite commander hung his head. "If that treacherous Mcclay had've been honest in his intent...but instead, he has deceived us all. Now, that accursed Keeper watches over her through his adamant gaze, guarding her life from even the best of assassins."  
"Cedric Mcclay? You mean the man Simmons signed as that tramp's caretaker?! What part does he play in all of this?" Lilithia demanded.  
"More than you know, m'lady."

THE HAMMERITE CATHEDRAL  
6 HOURS AGO:

His fist came down hard against the desk, causing him a moderate pain. His grunts filled the hollow chamber now, but Father Volkorn didn't seem to notice. Didn't seem to care. There were matters of far greater importance than his anguish.

"You're sure?" He spoke to his advisor in a slow, gravely voice.  
"Yes father. The lack of blood at the impact sight due to magical cauterizing indicates that he was definitely slain by a Keeper Enforcer. That's one of their signature kills. Like any other Keeper, they prefer to keep things clean and organized."

The High Priest shook with uncontrollable rage.

"So, it appears that the rumors surrounding him were true..." In one violent, determined motion, the priest shot up from his seat. "Builder forgive me for biding my time on this. But no more! This ends tonight!"

"Father?"

The high priest turned to face his second, and the look he gave Derik would forever leave a tainted stain upon the edges of his mind. Madness. Unspeakable madness, combined into a toxic brew of hatred and self-righteousness. The man before him now, holder of all power and choice for the city in place of a true ruler-was undeniably and helplessly insane.

"Purge the city. Burn it down if you have to. I want every Pagan, Grower, and supporter of the Vine eradicated from the earth. Your top priorities are Cedric Mcclay and the last nymph whom he has slain my assassin to protect. Bring both of them to me alive for questioning and torture. I wish to make a public spectacle out of them for what they have done." He growled.

The third wave of Hammerites rammed headlong into the gruesome battle. Flames licked ever higher up the bark of magnificent trees as another cannonball exploded against the forest floor and lit up the night. Father Volkorn sat poised atop his white steed, waving the hordes of his men on into the fight. His face was covered with a mixture of sweat and blood. The High Priest turned his eyes out into the mess of fire and corpses, and squinted to get a better view of what he was still up against.

It had been almost too easy.

The forest folk were no match for the power of the Hammerite cannons, or the impressive weight behind their weapons.

Through the chaos, a disgraced young man looked on in endless terror.

"So much death...Can my people never escape the pain?"

"Dawson!" Another man called through the smoke and screams.

Dawson spun around to meet his call. An exhausted grower approached, covered in blood and shrapnel from the cannon blow. His voice carried well over the valley, the cannons still roaring as the enemy side tried to desperately kill the retreating woodland dwellers.

"Fluorspar? What is it?"  
"We have an opening! Ayeena just took it!" Dawson's eyes grew wide with uncertainty.  
"Ayeena?! What's she planning to do?!"

The grower leader received his answer in the form of a horse's distressed whinny. It was followed by a heavy fall to the ground. Father Volkorn hopped off just as the massive beast hit. He looked at the downed animal, its muscular hind quarter oozing a thick red liquid, and realized that it had been stabbed.

The High Priest anxiously drew his longsword and whirled around to try and confront his assailant. A woman in tawny animal skins met his gaze with angry eyes as her stone dagger slashed at his throat.

"Pagan garbage! You die now, sinner!" Volkron hissed.  
"Shows me what's you gots, Hammerhead!" The young woman snarled with animalistic rage.

The two exchanged numerous blows and blocks, until yet another cannonball forced them to break apart their blades and duck for cover. Father Volkron popped his head up quickly, hoping that his forest-dwelling assailant wasn't atop the ledge waiting to chop it off. But fortunately, she wasn't, and he scrambled to get out of the brush and face his attacker once more.

WHUMP!

Something hard hit him on the head and threw off his concentration. Volkorn stumbled to the right, fighting to keep his balance. Then, the fur clad woman jumped him again and wasted no time in taking a slash at her damaged enemy. The blade found his chest, drawing a small amount of blood. Thankfully, the High Priest was wearing thick chainmail beneath his holy vestments. Volkorn regained his balance and returned the blow with one of his own.

Ayeena somersaulted backwards, dodging his blow.

Only to be struck from behind by another.

The pommel of his hammer caught the side of her head, rendering her unconscious. A huge Hammerite raised his weapon to grant her a gristly end, when his superior halted him.

"No. This one has personally attacked me." Volkorn hollered, grasping his injury. "You know what the penalty is for those who directly defy the High Priest."

The High Priest stared down at the pale woman, putrid hatred filling his eyes.

"Before the night is over, she'll wish you had killed her here."

"Let's pull out, now!" Dawson's voice rallied his loyal woodland warriors.

Wounded and tired, the growers began to rush towards their leader. They scampered like desperate rabbits down the tunnel of one of their emergency shelters. The cannons still roared as the Hammerites continued their bloody purge on the wood. However, most of the growers made it back, although every single one of them had reached their limit from the harsh battle.

Once he was sure that the survivors had all gotten away, Dawson turned and hurried to catch up with them. Upon reaching the mouth of the tunnel, the young man gave his clan the signal.

"Ah, Dawson! Just in time." A gruff voiced man greeted the grower leader as he stepped into the damp passage.

Dawson looked eagerly behind him, and then back to his men.

"Just as planned. Quickly now, light the fuse!"

The man nodded and immediately conjured a weak green fireball from his fingertips. They then took cover as the entrance to the tunnel exploded, caving in. Dawson lit his torch and began to survey the damage his group had sustained. Most of his followers had a wound of some sort, minor scrapes or small nicks. But a couple had been carried back by their stronger brethren, and had sustained much more grave injuries.

Dawson walked to the center of the room and placed the remaining potions on a small wooden table.

"Share these amongst yourselves, but let the truly wounded among you have them first." He instructed. "Our alchemy skills have improved tremendously during the time that the Last Mother graced us with her presence."

Instantly, all sound dissipated from the cavern. Dawson was left with the cold, awkward glances from his followers at the mention of Gwenevere.

"Where'd she go? Why has she abandoned us?" One of the youngsters asked the question that tugged at everyone's minds.  
"Don't ask such things! The will and power of our goddess is not to be questioned!" An older woman shushed the child whom had just spoken. Dawson brought up his hand and intercepted.  
"No, it's quite alright. The Last Mother has her reasons. I believe that someday, she will return to us again. When the time is right."  
"We are being invaded and massacred by Hammerite forces once more! What better time could there possibly be to warrant her return to us?!" An angry man cried.  
"...What if you asked her for help? You knew her better than any of us Dawson! She might listen to you!" Another man offered.

Dawson squeezed his eyes shut, a dull pain erupting within his tired skull.

"Yes. I did know her. But I also abandoned her when the time came. I cannot call upon her blessing now. Not after such blatant cowardice."  
"Then I shall go!" A woman's voice rang through the crowd.

It was Ayeena's younger sibling, Nellarose.

"My sister knew the Last Mother personally, back in her youth before Karras's invasion. Now my sister has been taken by the Hammerites. If anything can persuade Gwenevere to aid us, it is to help a long-lost friend."  
"Nellarose? Are you certain you want to do this?" Dawson inquired, his tone serious.  
"It doesn't matter if I want to or not. For the sake of my sister and our clan, I have to."

********************************************************  
THE CITY  
THAT NIGHT:

Erin lay in her bed, unable to find sleep. Too much was on her mind. The last of the dull embers had almost dissipated away from the fireplace in the corner. It would be dawn soon, much to her dismay.

Upon hearing the baby burrick rummaging around her hideout, she raised her head and glanced around the room. The creature was at the foot of her bed, a few bits of paper stuck against it's sticky maw. It gazed upon it's mistress with loyal eyes. Erin rolled her own through the darkness.

"The hell do you want?" She sat up in bed. "I don't want you getting comfortable here. I'm not about to keep you."

The burrick extended it's tongue and gently licked Erin's cold feet. She jerked back violently, nearly kicking it.

"Stop that! You're not a pet, you're a stinking nuisance!"

The reptile retracted with a sorrowful whine, slowly looking up through widened, pleading eyes. It gazed at her expectantly for a few minutes, but when it was clear that the young woman wasn't about to reciprocate, it finally gave up.

Erin stretched and began to lazily look around the room at her things. There was a pile of books decorating most of a small table, and her bow and quiver lay propped up in the corner. Her assassination dagger and a few potions were situated atop a nearby table.

As the moonlight caught the tip of her blade, the young woman felt a chill run down her spine.

She knew what Ross and Bernard expected of her. In the past, their trust in her abilities would never have been misplaced. Before, the assassin never questioned what she was doing. Who she was killing. Nessa had taught her to detach herself from her victims. To view each life she took as little more than wasted garbage. It was always easy after that.

But not this time.

This time, Erin was having a seriously hard time justifying what they wanted.

It wasn't because Gwenevere was an innocent. Erin had slaughtered plenty of those. Contracts placed on business rivals or witnesses to shady practice. It was because she belonged to Garrett. Erin knew that if she murdered Gwenevere, she would be destroying any and all connections to him too.

They were just beginning to mend their relationship. Things were finally getting to be like the way they had been. Before she grew up and left. Before she foolishly entered a pact with the Downwinders and became their wage slave.

Desperate to calm her nerves, Erin picked up a book from her bedside table.

Secretly, she loved books. Garrett had instilled this interest from the girl's very first moments in his care. Well before her teen years, Erin had already read more books than most peasants read in a lifetime. If they even could read.

Stories gave her the ability to venture outside the city and see the world in its entirety. She would read about wildlife, plants, or famous works of fiction.

But tonight, she didn't read for pleasure.

It was the escape that she needed most of all.


	28. Chapter 28

It was her first venture into The City. Nellarose was more nervous now than she had ever been before, and knowing that her beloved sister now lay at the mercy of Father Volkorn and his unwavering hatred did nothing to remedy that.

The lost child of the Woodsie Lord. She was now their only hope.

Nellarose brushed her long bangs out of her eyes. Her hair was very light blonde, almost white in hue,and her face bore several dark tattoos. The largest being two spiked suns that decorated the upper part of her face, running from her forehead to just above her slender cheekbones.

These were branded into her flesh long before she could remember. The only reminder she now possessed to prove her affiliation to the Pagan ways.

Her older sister and she had barely escaped the night Simmons launched his purge to find the Last Mother. They had wandered the burned woods and valley of corpses for weeks, hungry, scared, and barely alive. But somehow, they had found hope. Or rather, he had found them.

Dawson's father.

The founder of the entire grower cult.

Nellarose had been raised among a branch of that warm and hardworking band of religious farmers and nature mages. Hence her dialogue patterns being far different than those of her older sister, who had learned most of her speech from the Pagans.

Ayeena had known the one they called Gwenevere. Back when the verdant child had been still a promised savior. A binding of both the forest glens and the dreaded maw. A proposed and strongly desired second to a now downed god.

Nellarose nodded. If what Dawson told her was true; if Gwenevere truly did relate and care for humans-even those who refused the Vine, then there would be no doubt. She would surely desire to aid her very first friend.

Nellarose crept through the muggy, humid streets, sweat clinging to the sides of her face and brow with every step she took. She had no map, nor any idea where she was even going. She froze, pressing her lithe body against the cold dead bricks of a foreign structure.

The remains of the city clocktower.

It was still in the process of being rebuilt, and the structure still had a long way to go.

"Any word on the next regent?" A burly guard nudged his partner.  
"Gwenevere. They say it's her. Course, rumor has it that Ol' Simmons' widow has claimed stake to the title as well."  
"Ya know, this WOULD be the first time in many years that a woman was in charge of this place. Might make a nice change."  
"I honestly don't care if they put a taffin' kurshok on the throne. We need order of some sort."  
"You honestly think that one of those smelly fish men would bring order? Of any kind? Tch, bloody flies be more like it." The other guard spat.  
"Look mate. I was being sarcastic, or did you just miss that? The point being, if order isn't restored soon, we risk serious interference from the neighboring countries. They ain't too happy with us right now as is, what with the recent Hammerite Crusades and all."  
"Oh, yeah...fergot about that."  
"Well, they sure as hell didn't! Some of them might even be lurking around our fair city as we speak, out fer revenge or the like. So keep your eyes peeled, 'kay Mack?"

The other guard looked around nervously, then cowered after his friend.

Once their footsteps dissipated into silence, Nellarose allowed herself to breathe again. She looked around, trying to decide where to go next. Dawson had mentioned a few places Gwenevere might be, but since she knew nothing about this place, such details did little to aid her quest.

Nellarose could smell something however. It was faint, yet familiar. It resembled the honey loaves that the growers often dined upon when food was scarce during the winter. Sniffing the air again, she determined that the smell was coming from a dimly lit building up the road.

The Crippled Burrick Tavern.

Warily, she started inside.

What caught her attention most, other than the rancid odor of the place, was how loud it was. Even during sermon, or out in the bustling tilled fields during harvest season, the forest girl's world had never been so loud. Nellarose had never experienced this cacophony of drunken laughter and blissful music before; and it both delighted and frightened her.

Her head began to feel hazy, and despite her better judgments, the fur-clad maiden decided to take a seat at the bar in order to get her bearings. Her body quivered as she pulled up a barstool, and it protested and creaked as she drug it across the wooden floorboards.

"Need some help with that?"

A jolly female voice asked directly. Nellarose looked up, her dark brown eyes alive with curiosity and terror. Sophie met her gaze, and intrigued by this, she set her pitcher of ale down upon the counter.

"Sweetie? You okay?" The older woman asked, trying to sound polite. "You don't look like you're from around here. Are you perhaps visiting someone?" She added, taking notice of Nellarose's fur armor and boots.  
"No." The feral woman barked, briskly turning her head to the side.

She had come here looking for the Last Mother, not to socialize with a complete stranger. Sophie frowned, but then chuckled lightly.

"I see. Well, it's none of my business anyhow. What can I get'cha?"

Nellarose stared up at the friendly woman, confused by what she had just asked.

"Huh?"  
"Well, my guess is that you are here to get plastered, meet someone, or eat dinner. So if there's anything I can do to make your visit to the Crippled Burrick more comfortable, you just be sure to tell Mama Sophie. That's what most of the regulars call me anyhow. They say I'm like a mother to them." She winked.

Nellarose said nothing. She just continued to stare transfixed upon her bubbly host. Sophie smiled back, waiting for her to speak. After a few minutes of awkward stares and silence, she picked up her tray and proceeded to resume her rounds about the many tables again.

"Just be sure to let me know hon."  
"Wait!" Nellarose blurted, tugging almost frantically at Sophie's apron. She whirled around with a start.  
"Yes, my dear?"  
"You...are you THE Sophie?"  
"Uhhh...not quite sure what that means...I'm no one special." The flustered barmaid smirked nervously. Nellarose shook her head.  
"No no! Look ma'am, this might sound crazy, but do you know Dawson, of the Grower faction?"

Sophie felt a chill run down her spine.

"I've met him, yes." She replied bluntly, growing steadily more uncomfortable. "Why?"  
"He mentioned you, along with a few other city folk who might know the whereabouts of the Last Mother. He said, you folks would call her Gwenevere though." The young grower informed.

Sophie tensed at the mention of Gwenevere. Remembering what Garrett had told her about an assassin, the middle-aged waitress began to grow very suspicious of the tavern's latest patron.

Instantly, and rather unnaturally, her jovial workplace disposition shifted to give way for the maternal and protective safeguard to those unscrupulous few she viewed as closer than kin. Her fierce loyalty and compassion for those on the dark side of the law had earned her the nickname Black Alley Angel, although no one had called her that for a very long time.

However, it was a well-earned title.

"I have nothing to tell you about her." Sophie snapped, turning around again.

Nellarose snarled and withdrew her dagger.

"If you know where she is, you'd best tell me now, bitch!"

Catching the glinted luster of the blade out of the corner of her eye, Sophie grinned.

Basso the Boxman's little sister, was about to do something that she hadn't felt the need to do in quite some time.

With unexpected grace and strength, Sophie spun around and snatched Nellarose's armed wrist, forcing it down against the bar. The young woman cursed in desperation as she watched the dagger scuttle to the dirt floor of the tavern. Nellarose looked up again at the unassuming bar wench that now held her.

"Careful. Because I'm not feeling very accommodating this evening. I'll ask you once-what do you want with her?"

Somehow sensing that further violence would only hinder her quest to reach Ayeena in time, the grower hissed with sour disdain.

"I'm Nellarose. My sister, Ayeena...Gwenevere needs to help her!" She explained.  
"Why does Gwenevere need to help your sister?"  
"Because...they were best friends when she was little! Back in the Pagan Forest, before Simmons took her away from us!"

The thought of her sister, and what was undeniably happening to her within the dungeon of the Hammerite Cathedral caused Nellarose's eyes to flood with tears of desperation.

At first, an ever cautious Sophie thought this was merely a clever act. But as the dire need within the young woman's eyes became ever prominent with each passing second, she was gradually growing more concerned that this might simply not be the case.

Slowly, the facts began to add up.

Simmons had been a Mechanist. The assassin Garrett had spoken of was probably either Hammerite or stray Mechanist as well. This girl was wearing garments of the wood, tawny animal skins and furs despite the wet and sticky weather the city had been experiencing. She had spoken of Ayeena, a friend that Gwenevere had only ever mentioned to Sophie with tears in her eyes.

If Gwenevere still had a friend out there, if there had indeed been a survivor to her people's fate...

Slowly, Sophie let go of Nellarose's wrist.

"She's downstairs."

Upon entering her older brother's shady hovel, Sophie cleared her throat. Through the dimly lit candlelight, she could see Basso, Garrett and Gwenevere huddled around the boxman's desk. They appeared to be looking over a rather complex manor layout of sorts, although at the time, Sophie had no idea just what it really was.

"Um, boys? Mind if I snag Gwennie away from you for a sec?" She called.

Garrett looked up with perturbed annoyance. That's when he noticed the fair-haired woman lurking just behind Sophie.

And he wasn't the only one.

"Sophie. Don't move." Basso demanded, his voice low and serious. Gwenevere looked up, tilting her head slightly to locate whatever had gotten both men on edge so suddenly.  
"Relax brother. She's with me."

Sophie sighed, stepping aside so that Nellarose could enter the hovel.

"Who are you?" Gwenevere greeted in earnest.  
"Sorry ta be rude sweetheart, but this is MY hovel. I'll ask the questions here, Gwennie." Basso retorted, standing from his chair.

Gloria cawed as he squeezed past her perch and advanced upon the new arrival. When he was within a foot of Sophie, he leaned in and glared into her eyes.

"Who the hell is she?! I've told ya not ta bring yer little friends from up top down into my office. This is MY job Sophie, and if you hadn't noticed, I'm a little busy right now." He hissed. "We've talked about this..."  
"Basso, it's not what you think. She's a...a friend of Gwenevere's."

The boxman made a disbelieving, almost patronizing face.

"What?! Come on Sophie; the gal ain't got no friends outside of our little circle. Ya know her history as well as I do. So can ya just take yer little buddy back up to the tavern now?"  
"Listen, you idiot! Gwenevere had a life before Simmons and all the monstrous things that he did to her! This girl...she's-"  
"-Hi! I'm Gwenevere, what's your name?"

Sophie and Basso ceased their arguing and turned to see the little nymph reaching out her hand to Nellarose.

"Gwenevere!" Garrett barked, standing from the desk as well.

She turned her lucid green eyes up to meet those of her mentor and gave a hushed whimper.

"Sorry..."

She slunk back to his side. The thief glowered down at her as if she were a disobedient hound.

"Don't. Talk. To. Strangers." He snarled. "I'm getting sick of repeating that particular lesson."  
"And I'm sure she's getting tired of hearing it too..." Sophie murmured under her breath.

Garrett shot her a furious glare, but before he could respond, Nellarose did so first.

"Gwenevere, I'm Nellarose. You and I never met, but you knew my older sister, Ayeena."

Gwenevere leapt back and began to tremble. The mention of Ayeena made her stomach ache. She cringed, and drew back her face from Nellarose's pleading eyes. Her toes dug into the earth, and she gripped the side of Basso's desk until her knuckles turned white.

"Gwenevere, what's wrong?" Garrett demanded, his attention now fully directed upon the fur-clad woman standing in the shadows. "Leave. You have no business here." The thief spoke in a deep, enraged voice.  
"Excuse me, but indeed I do. My sister is still alive." Nellarose spoke in a grave tone.

Gwenevere flung herself at the stranger, beyond herself with rage.

"Alive!? What do you mean alive!?"

The years she had spent alone, the horrific crimes of Simmons and the Mechanists. Her life within the forest had ended long ago, and Gwenevere was no fool to the contrary. Now this girl had come to provoke and toy with that by stating that such nightmares hadn't been what they seemed.

That her only best friend was still alive.

Extending thorny tendrils out from her fingertips, the enraged nymph ground her teeth in unspoken emotional anguish.

"How dare you toy with me!"

The entirety of the room grew icy with her inhospitable hate. She was overwhelmed with cruel feelings, and a harsh fire ignited in her heart. Gwenevere's enchanted eyes shone, although her mouth formed neither a smile nor a frown as she screamed and launched her attack.

"GWENEVERE!" Her teacher demanded.

Unbeknownst to the thief, his words were the only thing that could have ever stopped her brutal onslaught. Gwenevere was conditioned to them, trained amongst them. The depth of her respect and devotion to him would forever remain uncharted by his mortal thoughts, but the effect he held was obvious.

Because at that moment, she ceased her attack.

"Stand down! What did I tell you about using your more showy powers?" Garrett continued. "We don't need any more trouble..."

"Anyway, if she was a threat, Sophie wouldn't have led her down here." Basso added. He looked over his shoulder at his sibling. "At least, I'd hope not."  
"Basso, don't be stupid. Of course I'd never do that!"

"What do you want with me? Why'd you have to mention her?!" Gwenevere screamed, her eyes now swimming with hot tears. Nellarose stood from the corner and dusted herself off.

"Please Gwenevere! I speak only the truth! Our forest was attacked by Hammerites, and she...she tried to kill their leader. But they captured her, and now she'll be tortured and killed if you don't help! Please Gwenevere! You have to save her! The forest needs you!" Nellarose sobbed hysterically.

Gwenevere stood in suspended disbelief. If it was true, what did this mean? Was it even possible? Had her best friend been out there the entire time, longing for a seemingly impossible reunion?

"Gwenevere, did you hear her? There's someone out there who remembers you!" Sophie added, teary-eyed. "You have real family out there."

"Family? Tch, honestly?" The cynical thief intercepted. "The Pagans have no love for her. They abandoned her when things got tough. Never came looking for her."

He glared down at Nellarose.

"And you sure as hell don't count.

"You're right. I'm a Grower." She grinned sarcastically.

"Whatever. It's all crazy eye-gouging nature cultship to me." The thief muttered bitterly.  
"Please, just listen to me. I have much to tell you, and unfortunately there isn't much time! They took Ayeena to the Hammerite Cathedral. We need to go save her!" Nellarose was begging now.

"And just why does Gwennie need to be the one to do this? Why not have the growers go save her yerself?" Basso crossed his arms.

"Because the growers are useless at everything, that's why." Garrett interrupted again.

"I'll go." Gwenevere nodded solemnly. "I need to see Ayeena again. I have so much to ask her about."

"What?! Gwenevere, no. You're not going anywhere near the Hammerite Cathedral." Garrett remarked.

"What if you go with me?"

"And just why would I do that?"

The nymph's green eyes flashed with sinister cunning.

"Because I'm going. You'll either have to let me, or try and stop me, and that would require following me."

"Or I could just knock you over the head and let you sleep this insanity off." The thief quipped sarcastically. "Are you honestly certain of what you're even agreeing to Gwenevere?! Even if I would allow it, breaking into any Hammerite establishment is ALWAYS an advanced job, reserved only for seasoned professionals.

"Well that's funny Garrett. Ya broke me outta Craigscleft, and you were fresh into the game back then." The boxman gave his mate a wry grin

"That was different!" The thief protested. Basso shook his head.

"Here sweetness. I can help sneak ya in." He winked at Gwenevere.

"No, you can't." Again, Garrett fought to intercept.

The boxman chuckled. He walked up to the little nymph and wrapped a thick arm around her shoulders. Gwenevere looked into his wily expression with eager curiosity.

"Step into my office kid. I've got a killer plan up my sleeve."


	29. Chapter 29

**GOLD RUSH MISSION BRIEFING**  
**12:30 AM:**

_ Well, here we go again. I've never been big on group activities, of course ever since I met Gwenevere, that girl's been roping me into all sorts of things I'm less than fond of. This by far, might be one of the riskiest. The Hammerite Cathedral has never been my favorite place in the city, but there's always a good haul there as long as you're careful not to get caught by the zealots. According to Basso, there's a load of gold bars inside the resident factory, waiting to be melted down into another Builder statue. Tch, guess they need to stay busy somehow when they're not bludgeoning 'sinners' to death. _

_ I'll sneak ahead and let myself in, while Basso will ride in using a donkey cart he bribed off of a local. The Hammerites are expecting another shipment of their sacred red wine, probably for the new statue ceremony. Basso's thought ahead and filled the topmost crates with knock-off vintages of the real thing. No doubt it cost him a pretty penny, but if this heist goes over, he'll make it back tenfold. _

_ The remaining crates are empty, and once I rendezvous with Basso outside in the foyer, that's where we'll stash the gold. The entire operation will probably take us the entire night, but thankfully Sophie's spoken to some of her contacts on the inside. Turns out the Anvils are a lot less conservative than their male counterparts. Several of the women inside know Sophie from back in her more 'rebellious' years, and most of those owe her a boon or two from those days. They'll be more than happy to keep those holier-than-thou thugs busy._

_ Of course, not all the Anvils will be willing to play along. That's where Gwenevere and her costume come in. She'll set up some magical wards to seal off the area where Basso and I will be loading the bars, keeping any stray Hammerites and Anvils at bay. Huh, when used correctly, I suppose her spells can come in handy after all..._

_ After the wards are in place, Gwenevere will sneak out of the cloister to start searching for her friend. Along with that Grower girl, Nellarose. From there, they'll make their way through the chapel and into the inquisition chamber. Charming little place. But unfortunately if this Ayeena's still alive, it's the best place to start looking._

_ I know from a rather unpleasant experience that the torture chamber isn't the only place Pagan captives can end up. If the girls can't locate Ayeena in there, plan B would be to enter the requiem and make their way into the Hammerite Quarry. If Gwenevere doesn't find her friend there, chances are she's already dead._

_ After the gold has been taken, Basso will leave the way he came in, and I'll try to catch up with Gwenevere and her Grower buddy. I'm not sure what to make of her yet, but this sudden involvement of hers has me on edge. I doubt she's helping us just for her sister's sake. With the Growers, or any faction in this city, there's always something more..._

**HAMMERITE CATHEDRAL **  
**1:00 AM:**

"Halt! Thou'st art descending onto holy ground!" A well-muscled Hammerite proclaimed as the small cart reached the gates of the cathedral. "State thou business now, or leave!"

The middle-aged man looked up and grinned.

"I'm here with the shipment you ordered." His donkey gave a snort as the Hammerite advanced upon the cart.  
"Hmm, we weren't expecting the shipment so soon. I'd better take a look to make sure this is not a mistake."  
"Please, by all means!" The cart driver offered.

The Hammer sighed annoyance as he threw back the tarp of the cart and began digging through crates. Using the pommel of his weapon, he was able to open one of them with ease. The driver's words were indeed true; inside were several bottles of smooth red wine.

"Oh, and I have yer invoice for ya right here."

The driver waved his hand out to the side. It was clutching a crumpled piece of paper. The Hammerite snatched up the parchment, and skimmed over its contents.

"Hmm, okay. Open the gate!" He hollered.

With a clattery rumble, the barred metal gates rose up, granting passage to both donkey and driver. The Hammerite guard sneered at him as he started through.

"Thank you! Builder's blessings upon ya!" The driver tipped his straw hat as his donkey pulled the cart through. Once they had rounded the bend, Basso began to chuckle. "Or rather, they're gonna be on me..."

The foyer was dark, save for a sparse patch of light coming from one of the doors to the factory building. Taking a deep breath, Basso waited for Garrett to make his debut.

"Nice of you to show up, I've been waiting for the last half hour." The thief scoffed.

Basso squinted through the pine trees and the English ivy that clung to the upper wall. Through the thick foliage, he could just barely make out the shape of a man. Garrett was sitting with his back propped against the wall of the factory.

"Garrett! Get yer arse down here and stop taffin' around!" The boxman hissed.

Garrett smirked, then leapt down from the wall.

"Nice hat." He grinned.

Basso fumbled to remove the straw hat from his head, leaving his large bald spot exposed.

"Damn it!" He turned away, slightly embarrassed.  
"Come on Basso, it's not THAT bad."  
"Tch, yeah. Coming from the sod who still has a full head of hair." The boxman griped.

Garrett said nothing, instead choosing to focus on the crates inside the cart.

"Most are empties then?" He inquired.  
"Gimme some credit Garrett!"  
"Just making sure..."

The thief turned his attention up to the cathedral. He wondered if Gwenevere was making any progress, finding her long-lost friend.

"Besides, with the way Sasha here drives, you should be grateful they aren't all busted. Damned horse gits spooked to easy."  
"The 'donkey's' name is Sasha?" Garrett crooked an eyebrow whilst straightening his hood.  
"Naw, I just call it Sasha...after, after...her..." Basso blushed, a stupid grin spread wide across his face as he trailed off into a daze.

Garrett took this opportunity to give the donkey's undercarriage a brief peek.

"It's a jack, Basso."  
"Naw, pretty sure the quartermaster said it was a donkey-"  
"-I mean, it's a male."  
"Oh."  
"Forget it old man. I've gone ahead and unlocked everything, so let's get to work."

The boxman tethered the donkey to a nearby tree in the courtyard, then sped off into darkness after Garrett. He caught up with the thief outside of the enormous factory building. Thick iron grating reached up like a dead tree towards the starless night sky, the moon blotted out by thick smoke.

Basso gaped upwards at the vast facility.

"Leave it ta the Hammerites ta put a bloody factory on holy ground." He wheezed.  
"That's sort of what they do." The thief snorted, popping open the back door to the factory. He slid his lockpicks lovingly back into their leather casing and sighed. "You sure you're up for this Basso?" He looked over the boxman warily. Basso just laughed.  
"And leave you with all the profits? Taff no!" He exclaimed, slapping his old friend across the back as he entered the establishment. Garrett tensed, rubbing his shoulder.  
"Just try not to get us spotted, old man..."

Basso waved him off, wobbling across the metal grating of the storage room.

"Eh, don't get yer cloak in a knot. I know what I'm doing."  
"That may be so, but you're more rusty at this than Erin's archery skills." The thief replied, pushing his way past Basso to survey the next room.

There was a thin veil of soft green nature magic shimmering like a protective bubble over the double doors of the entryway. Garrett smirked. Gwenevere had done her part in advance.

"Aww, glad to see you still care." Basso joked, examining his balding head in the reflection of a nearby steel beam. "How is that kid anyhow?"  
"Hmm?" The thief murmured, still focused more on their surroundings and the job at hand.

Basso's constant yapping was starting to annoy him-yet another reason he preferred to work alone. It seemed that no one he'd met in this city took thieving as seriously as he did. To Erin, it had been a game. Basso took it so casually that he was attempting to make small talk as they worked. And Gwenevere...

Garrett's eyes found the ward again, a forlorn frown destroying what little of a smile had been.

_You'd better focus this time...and you'd better be alright._

"I said, how's Erin doin'?"  
"I don't converse while I'm working Basso." Garrett snapped, suddenly feeling very tense.  
"Oh-kay...Sheesh, things got cold all of a sudden."  
"Focus Basso. You're supposed to be a veteran at this." The thief reprimanded with a strict hiss.  
"Fine Garrett." Basso sighed, turning his attention back to the task at hand. "According to my sources, they should be in the smelting plant. There will be about, four or so Hammers on duty tonight in that area, according to one of Sophie's Anvil contacts."  
"Right. Better go ahead and get them out of the way. We're already starting this job far later than I'd anticipated, and once that 6:00 AM bell sounds, they'll start smelting that gold. We've got less than four hours, so let's grab as much as we can, and quickly." Garrett informed.  
"Lead the way then." Basso nodded.


	30. Chapter 30

The inside of the factory was just the way Garrett had left it ten years ago-full of giant whirring machines and a steamy heat. It was always unbearably hot within any of the Hammerite factories he'd traversed, especially under a garb of leather and warm cape. The thief secretly wondered how the Hammers managed to work these infernal factories in even heavier clothing, but then again, fanatics were rarely sensible about anything.

Basso stayed behind Garrett as the two men started through the entryway of the building. It wasn't long before the sound of heavy boots found the thief's acute ears. Looking over his shoulder at the boxman, the thief gave a stern look and nodded. Basso, nodded back. Creeping across the metal grating of the factory floor, the Garrett crept upon this heavily armed obstacle.

Then, with one well-aimed smack from a far weaker weapon, the large Hammerite collapsed to the ground.

Garrett heaved as he struggled to drag the heavy man to the corner of the room. Basso watched this with impressed contemplation.

"Never been able to understand how you can do that. Yer not exactly built, Garrett."  
"Strength has never been measured by muscle Basso. Not entirely." The thief replied, being strangely cryptic.  
"Really? Philosophy, comin' from you?!" The boxman grinned.  
"What did I say about chatting on the job? Honestly Basso, you're worse at listening than both Erin and Gwenevere combined!"

Garrett wiped some sweat from his brow. Basso took no offence to this rather harsh statement, but even so, he deigned to speak again.

Garrett took the liberty of dousing a lit torch as the two rounded the corner. At the bottom of a rather rickety set of stairs were two more Hammerites, and they appeared to be rather edgy. Motioning for Basso to stay back, Garrett leaned forward to try and hear what they were talking about.

"Didst thoust hear about Derik Garrison?" The Hammer nearest the stairs spoke first.  
"No, what of thy brother?" The other inquired.  
"Father Volkorn wast up in arms when he came back this evening. Brother Cornwall tells me that it wast because Brother Garrison hast left the fold!"  
"What? Thou art joking, correct? Garrison is a high-ranking commander, and a man of virtue and determination! A sworn follower of our beloved Builder to the death!"  
"No, I fear tis true. I saw him leave just over an hour ago. He wasn't even wearing his uniform anymore, but rather the garb of a lowly pauper."  
"How could he denounce the Builder in such an impenitent fashion?! Why the very thought causes min blood to boil!"  
"Truly, there art wicked forces at work. For the only logical explanation, is corruption most foul."  
"Indeed. Let us devote ourselves ever more diligently to prevent such taint from befalling one of us!"  
"Builder forbid!"

When the two had finished their conversation, they nodded at one another and went their separate ways. Garrett's bi-colored eyes flashed in the shadows.

"Kind of refreshing to see a Hammerite with a mind of his own." He grumbled.

Basso glared at the thief as he spoke.

Apparently, it was alright for Garrett to speak aloud.

"Basso. We should take care of those guys, else they might be trouble. They're no doubt guarding the gold bars. Wait here and don't move." He instructed.

Basso shrugged, rolling his eyes in the process. He watched as Garrett fled off in the opposite direction, blackjack in tow.

*******************************************

**HAMMERITE FACTORY**  
**1 HOUR IN:**

The boxman grunted as he struggled to carry several gold bars back to his cart. No question about it. For the next load, he was bringing in a crate to put them in. Otherwise, it was just to clumsy fumbling with the loose bars. The donkey grunted as he loaded the gold. Basso patted the equine, then turned around to re-enter the building.

He hadn't gone but ten feet, when a low creaking found his ears. It sounded mechanical, coupled with short electrical crackles and buzzes. Growing nervous at this new, unexpected noise, the boxman took an intimidated step back.

"Umm, hello?" He offered.

Whatever was there lurking in the darkness, it wasn't a Hammerite.

It wasn't even human.

Silence added extra weight to the already overbearing sense of trepidation that covered his person, as Basso waited for any more sound to reside within the shadows.

Until finally, they did.

Rising up from a pile of twisted copper metal, a figure emerged. It was human, a woman to be precise. Yet, at the same time...it wasn't.

Basso jumped in surprise as bright blue beacons lit up within the things eyes. It gathered itself, and walked towards him.

"I am HELEANABOT 2.0. How may I serve you?"

It was only then that the dense man realized just what he was staring at.

A robot.

As the Heleanabot came closer, Basso couldn't help but notice that she looked an awful lot like the destroyed cyborg whom she was no doubt named after.

Aside from her primitive beeps, buzzes, and metal body, she was an exact replica. Down to her hourglass figure and confident posture. Basso began to relax, though he couldn't help but wonder what a MECHANIST robot was doing here in a Hammerite factory. After all, it was no secret that the two factions opposed one another. There was no way that the Hammers would desire to make a robot in a Mechanist leader's likeness.

As he pondered these things and more, the boxman's eyes grew focused upon the engraved sign just above the robot Heleana's head.

**RUBBISH HEAP**

Noticing where he was looking, the robot beeped.

"HELEANABOT 2.0 does not desire to be melted down. HELEANABOT 2.0 is still functional. You are not a foul Hammerite. I would be happy to serve you, if it pleases you." She ended her dialogue with another beeping sound.

Basso thought about it. In life, or whatever semblance she had as a cyborg, he had always had a secret crush on Heleana. But she was a backstabbing bitch who had betrayed his best friend, and as such, he could never trust her. Let alone enjoy her company. But this Heleana...

Almost happily, he approached the metal creation.

"Yeah, sure. I'll get you outta this place. Come with me." He smiled.

The Heleanabot's eyes flashed a soft teal light, and although her lips did not contort to form one, Basso knew that somehow, she had smiled back.

******************************************************

Garrett was slightly past the point of annoyance by the time Basso arrived back at the storage room. There were still several thousand gold bars left to move, and it would be dawn in just three short hours.

"About time you got back Basso!" He hissed. "I checked, you know. There weren't any Hammers left to give you trouble. So what the hell kept you?"  
"Hey! I had my reasons okay?" Basso shot back defensively. "Maybe I had to take a piss, you don't know!"  
"Doesn't matter. Just carry out the next load already." Garrett sighed.  
"Yeah, about that. We're outta room Garrett. Crates are full."

The thief jerked back, flabbergasted.

"What?! You've only taken four loads, how the hell can all those crates be full already?! There were at least ten more in there!"  
"Well, the horse busted most of them on our ride here. Soooo..." Basso added.

Garrett shook his head, shooting daggers at his mate.

"You know what? I should have known better than to trust a retired troublemaker and arsonist to do a thief's work." The thief poisoned.  
Pushing his way past Basso, Garrett made his disdain obvious.  
"Next time, stay in the tavern where you belong."

Basso bristled at the insult. His pride hurt, he stiffened his posture as Garrett walked off.

"Look Garrett! I did the best I could. I haven't been out in the field fer fifteen damn years! Cut me some slack!"  
"Slack?" Garrett whirled around. "Do you honestly forget everything so easily? This job isn't about second chances, or ease. You have one chance to do it and do it right or you're dead! If you want to re-live your youth, then why not go on and bed Sasha already? But I don't take kindly to this Basso, you should have known better than to come if you weren't competent enough. I don't appreciate putting my neck on the line for fools."

Garrett waited to watch the fury and hurt appear on the boxman's face before turning to leave again. But Basso was in no mood to let Garrett smugly get the last word in. Not after what he had just said.

"Yeah? If this is how you treated Gwennie and Erin, then it's no damn wonder why neither of them wanted to follow in yer footsteps and become a thief!"

His words stopped Garrett cold, halting his exit. Basso winced almost as soon as the words came out of his mouth.

After almost twenty years, he knew every one of the thief's mannerisms and what they meant. A stiff, silent halt was never a good sign.

Without even seeing his face, Basso knew that he had struck a serious nerve. But was it anger, or something else adorning the rogues face at that moment? This, the boxman could never hope to divulge.

Releasing an exhausted sigh, Basso swallowed his pride and reached out for his friend.

"Garrett. Listen, it's been a long night. I'm tired. You're tired. Come on mate; you know I didn't mean that!" He offered.

The thief said nothing. He simply walked off into darkness.


	31. Chapter 31

Ayeena's body trembled. Her long blonde hair lay in greasy strands to the sides of her sweltering face. Both hands were clumsily bound behind her back, the thick ropes cutting into her wrists. She was on her knees, her chest and head supported by a foul-smelling executioners block that smelled of rank death.

She was in a dingy, windowless dungeon. Its walls were water-damaged, with black mold creeping up the grey and brown brick. The ceiling was low and cracked, green slimy water dripping slowly from the fissure. The dim lighting drenched everything in a sick shade of yellow.

She was more unsure than afraid. If the place the cityfools called hell really existed, Ayeena wondered if it was anything like this.

There were two bodies staked to the ground on the opposite side of the room, flames eating away at their remaining, dead flesh. She had came to after hearing their last agonizing cries fade permanently into silence. Yet still their bodies burned, the scent of human meat coating the entire chamber with a thick, coppery stink.

What was left of their bodies, supplied a source of light to the room, allowing the High Priest and the torture master to go about their business of mutilating her.

**K-WAAACK!**

Ayeena grunted, hissing as the hefty Hammerite cracked his whip across her back once more. Tears filled her eyes as she squeezed them tighter, her teeth clenched and her mind screaming where her mouth did not. The Hammerite High Priest was there too, and he grinned in conquest as fresh blood began to ooze from the Pagan girl's angry wound.

Despite the sharp burning sensations brought on by the whipping, Ayeena was strangely curious as to why they weren't doing more to make her suffer. These were Hammers, and she was a Pagan. Furthermore, she was a Pagan whom had tried to murder their leader.

Why did they choose to keep her alive?

She received her answer in the form of a bony hand grabbing up her face. Ayeena remained complacent, even as the maddened eyes of Father Volkorn met hers.

"Where is your Last Mother?" He asked slowly, trying to seem intimidating.

Ayeena winced at the mention of her long lost friend, but she did not reply.

Volkorn grabbed the whip from the torture master.

"Fine. Have it your way."

With that, he swung the object directly into her unguarded face.

This time, Ayeena did scream.

As her flesh tore, she instinctively went to grab at her face. But due to her hands being bound, she was unable to. Instead, she closed her eyes again, feeling as her wounds began to bleed and swell. Her cheeks especially, felt like they were on fire.

Taking a step back, the High Priest kicked her writing form hard.

"Tell me, Pagan! Where has your putrid goddess scampered off to?!"  
"Cowardly Hammerhead! Kills me if yous mustie. I bes never tellings you!" Ayeena managed to sound strong, regardless of her injuries. "She bes deservers peace."

Father Volkorn sneered at her noble words.

"We have no intention of killing you. Not when we can squeeze blood and information out of you. Or put your kind to work. Brother Cornwall! Take her to the quarries. Shackle her with that coward, Woksworth. The liars shall enjoy their company together."  
"Yes, Father Volkorn." Cornwall nodded, and reached for Ayeena's binds.

The chamber door swung open to reveal another Hammerite. He was pushing a large empty iron cart. Wearily, Ayeena began to wonder what it was for. She was soon to find out in the worst possible way.

"Good. You're here." Volkorn grinned. "Cornwall. Go ahead and incapacitate her now."

The young woman screeched in sudden agony, as a heavy hammer came down upon her legs. Emotionally exhausted and physically spent, Ayeena began to feel incredibly lightheaded. The initial adrenaline rush that came with being kidnapped and tortured was beginning to fail her as she drifted into unconsciousness.

She was positive she was dying. She willed her goodbyes to the world as she ceased struggling.

_At least...at least theys bes never...never finders her..._

Finally, she passed out.

******************************************************************

**HAMMERITE RELIQUARY**

**2:00 AM**

"Nellarose, what exactly is happening? You never gave us a clear answer." Gwenevere inquired, seemingly to no one as she rounded the hallway of the Hammerite reliquary.

She knew the farm girl was lurking in the rafters just above.

Despite the chilling silence that followed her question, the nymph somehow knew that she had heard her.

Finally, Nellarose spoke.

"The forest has been burned. The Hammers have purged our village. If not for the quick actions of both Dawson and Ayeena, we'd all be gone."

Gwenevere swallowed a warm wad of sappy saliva.

Ayeena was alive.

The revelation was still almost unbelievable. Gwenevere had been there that horrible night. She had heard her best friend scream. Ever since, she had presumed her dead. Casting her saffron-laced eyes up to the rafters, she watched as Nellarose shuffled effortlessly across the lowermost beam.

Not only had Ayeena survived, but so had her little sister. Nellarose, had been less than a year old when the Mechanists attacked.

How in the Trickster's name had such young girls survived alone without help?

"Don't worry Nellarose. We're gonna find her." Gwenevere offered.

Without warning, the Grower leapt down before the nymph. Her dark eyes were alive with determination, and with promise. She stared pensively at Gwenevere, unmoving.

"I remember you, ya know."  
Gwenevere's heart froze.  
"What? But you were just a baby."  
"Not from my youth. From Ayeena's stories." Nellarose corrected.

Gwenevere was speechless.

Even after all these years, Ayeena had not only remembered Gwenevere-she had thought her important. Special enough to tell her younger sibling stories of their adventurous youth.

"You meant everything to her. Not as a goddess or anything like that. She always spoke of you as an equal. As a treasured friend."

Gwenevere felt herself begin to smile inside at the farm girl's words. Blinking a few stubborn tears of nostalgia from her celadon irises, she gave a wide, outward grin.

"That's what she was to me as well."  
"Gwenevere. I'm sorry. This must be a lot to take in."  
"It is, but I don't care. I'm just happy to still have at least one friend out there."

The nymph wrapped her arm around Nellarose's shoulder. She looked up at Gwenevere and grinned. In a soft voice, she replied shyly.

"I'm sure you have more friends than you realize."

Gwenevere smiled again as her eyes danced.

Perhaps Nellarose was right.

However, all joy and warmth left her as the door to inquisition came into view. Gwenevere prepared herself, and reached for the handle.

It was locked, but fortunately someone had taught her how to take care of that.

********************************************************************

As her lucid eyes traversed the darkness of the torture chamber, the young woman felt as her skin began to crawl. But as Gwenevere's eyes began to adjust to the endless darkness, the true horrors of that room hit her in the face.

Iron maidens, chains with shackles, as well as various other disturbing tools of torture were the first things to meet her gaze, shattering parts of her innocent heart.

_So much blood..._

There was fresh blood on the rack, and dried black all over the floor of the chamber. Unlike the surgery rooms back at the Moira Asylum, there was no grate in the middle of the floor. The chamber reeked of sulfur, copper, and rotten meat.

Charred skeletons stood in a row of four, their limbs bound backwards over a black metal pole. An ashen pile of crisp entrail caused Gwenevere to recoil. Undoing the hood of her Anvil uniform, she rushed to the corner of the room, and vomited.

"Are you alright?" Nellarose called out to her.

Gwenevere weakly looked up and met her gaze. It was uncomfortable, at best.

To be honest, she wasn't sure how to feel about all this. The gristly remains of what the Hammers had done to their prisoners, coupled by the crippling fact that they hadn't located Ayeena here.

She shuddered as she remembered what Garrett had told her before coming here.

_"If you don't find her there, she might still be in the quarries. But it's far more likely that they'd just kill her than send her there."_

Gwenevere began sobbed quietly. Chances were, that Ayeena was already gone.

She was too late to save her best friend.

Then she began thinking about why she was really here. About her best friend, long thought dead. Like Vivileena, Dean, and all the rest. Green flames flashed from within her eyes. Ayeenna had been her best friend. The only child who dared to defy Dyan's words.

She had granted Gwenvere friendship, and happiness. Furthermore, she had sewn the seeds of compassion within the nymph. Something unnatural, usually unheard of from her kind. Gwenevere unwaveringly believed, that it was largely because of that brave young girl and the forbidden friendship she had offered...that she had turned out the way she had.

Daughter of tenacious Mother Nature and an Earth God of Chaos. A pang of reality grabbed at her chest. Given those sinister, supernatural roots, there was absolutely no reason for her to turn out to be so kind. Especially to humans.

But in those innocent, impressionable days of her youth, a human had been there to unwittingly pave the way into a different life.

No! She couldn't give up on Ayeena. Not after what she had blessed her with.

With newfound drive, the nymph forced herself to her feet.

"Gwenevere? Are you alright? Answer me!" Nellarose demanded.

Gwenevere stared at her in utmost silence, a solemn intent written across her maturing face.

"I'm not giving up. We're gonna find her." She promised the teen, faith renewed. "Let's go! It's time for plan B!"

After what she had just experienced, Gwenevere thought there wasn't anything else this awful place could throw at her that she couldn't handle. Unfortunately, she was very badly mistaken.

And unfortunately, it only got more unspeakable, as the two girls acted upon their second plan.

Entering the foreboding Hammerite Quarries.


	32. Chapter 32

The Mice squeaked and scurried about in the dim light as the two women traversed through the dank passages of their usually quiet domain. Nellarose walked side by side with the flustered nymph, clutching her arm for comfort. She disliked cavy areas, being somewhat claustrophobic.

"You doing okay there?" Gwenevere spoke for the first time since visiting the torture chamber. Nellarose nodded sheepishly. The nymph smiled. "Good."

Gwenevere looked off to her left, noticing as a zombie lumbering up the path. It emitted a low snarl, and looked up at her warily. Gwenevere gave the lost soul a friendly nod, and watched as the hellfires blazing brilliantly within the entities lifeless eyes fizzled into coal black voids.

"It's alright ancient one. I mean you no quarrels nor harm."

The creature stopped and stared at her, unsure what to make of this strange woman and her fearless reaction to his rotting flesh and terrible, rust-covered pick axe. After about five minutes, he slowly turned around and continued his unending nightly search for peace. The little nymph watched him pass, a tiny grin upon her delicate lips.

The horrors and unknown that filled the rest of The City with dread, and kept them sedentary within their small homes had always seemed so placid and natural to her.  
In the distance, Gwenevere could hear the clicking of picks upon solid rock. The prisoners had to be close now. Another zombie found her path shortly.

This one just stood unwavering in her path.

"Oh hi there!" Gwenevere giggled. "Gee, there sure are a lot of you down here!" The innocent girl giggled.

The zombie stood paralyzed, and suddenly started moaning.

"Gwenevere..." Nellarose looked up at the smiling nymph. 4

Did she really not know?!

As the zombie turned around to lumber off, Gwenevere couldn't help but look over the solitary being. It was her first time ever seeing an undead, and he fascinated her. That's when the ruby-haired girl noticed the faint tattoo emblazoned into his grey rotting flesh. It was the Mark of the Trickster, but the usual eye ended in tapering, lines that fed into a more intricate bottom pattern.

Somehow sensing her prying stare, he turned around and faced her with another moan.  
Simultaneously, Gwenevere reached behind her back and felt the markings between her own shoulderblades. Hers was the same, only instead of linework, the edges of the crescent were intertwined with lilac vines.

She had been marked with the tattoo after successfully attempting her first kill. Even if her mother had been required to finish the job; Gwenevere had proven that she COULD do it-and furthermore, would.

She could still remember that fateful night. Her mother's branches carving the marks into her flesh, then rubbing the resulting wound with the ashes of her victim. Or at least part of him. His hair and bits of his flesh.

It hadn't been all too painful-Viktoria's slices were straight and clean. Besides, Gwenevere had been too elated with her recent triumph to even notice it.  
It was back in those days, that she had truly known the meaning of 'cherish'.

Whilst she had been lost in her memories, several more zombies lumbered over into view. Nellarose clutched tighter to her savior's arm as the two girls slowly became surrounded. But for some odd reason, the undead deigned to attack with their usually ravenous brutality. They all just stood like their companion.

Completely frozen, and locked on Gwenevere.

She locked eyes with the wandering souls again, as she looked up. That's when she noticed that they had all turned their backs to her. So that she could see the tattoos they still carried into death. As if some part of her already knew why this was, Gwenevere emitted a weak, slightly uncomfortable laugh.

"Well that's funny. Why do you all have the same..."

Gwenevere took an uncomfortable step back, feeling as her stomach caved with sick realization.

"...tattoos...you were...you were all Pagans once..."

"Gwenevere...I'm sorry. I thought you knew. I thought every Grower and Pagan knew."

Nellarose apologized, squeezing the nymph hard in sympathy.

But she could neither hear nor feel her sentiments.

Throughout her store time with the Pagans, they had warned her. Of the scum Hammerites, and to steer clear of them. However, aside from their fanatical beliefs and violent tendencies, Gwenevere had never understood why specifically should be made to hate them.

Now, at long last, she had her answer.

Her breathing grew hot and quickened, stress and tension flooded her veins and caused the muscles in her neck to ache. Her fingers flew away from her hands and began to tremble. Gwenevere's jaw dropped, then locked up, leaving her mouth a gaping hollow as she gawked helplessly at her fellows. A budding fireball then found her chest, and within seconds, it had overheated into an inconsolable inferno.

This was all just too much. The little nymph quivered once, then sank to her rubberized knees.

Gwenevere, was done.

Or so she thought.

As she knelt there, overwhelmed with grief, a thirsty voice creaked.

"Nella...bes that you, sister?"

Nellarose's pupils widened at the sound of Ayeena's frail tone. She rose from where she had squatted to comfort the ailing nymph, her motives shifted.

"Ayeena?! Where are you? Sister!" She hollered.

From the edges of her turbulent mind, Gwenevere heard her. With slow sorrow, she opened her eyes to the calling farm girl. The nymph did not care if any Hammerites heard her. Not now. In fact, Gwenevere WANTED them to come. Silently dared them to.

Then, she would tear them all apart for what they had done.

"Gwenevere! Get up! I found her, but she's badly hurt!" From around the bend, Nellarose screamed in frantic desperation for her helper.

Gwenevere's celadon eyes flew open at the mention of Ayeena. Numbly, she somehow managed to pull her traumatized body from the coal black earth. She raced over to where Nellarose was standing, hunched over a battered, broken form.

Gwenevere shook her head with a gasp, not wanting to believe what was in front of her. It was the first time she had seen Ayeena in years. If Nellarose hadn't confirmed this, Gwenevere knew that she would never have recognized her. Not because of the long years which had caused the mature child to become a woman-but rather because her fire was diminished.

Ayeena had always had such a strong, unchallenged zest for life. But the young woman before her, was nothing more than a defeated pile of shattered dreams. Apprehensive at first, Gwenevere approached her.

"Ayeena? Is...is that really you?" She whispered, hopeful.

Ayeena weakly craned her head upright to meet the soul whom had just spoken.  
She was absolutely speechless. The trembling Pagan looked up at the little nymph, tears running down her cheeks. Gwenevere bent down and gave her a compassionate hug.

"I thought you were dead." Gwenevere wept against Ayeena's dirty blonde locks.  
"No. I bes still drawsies breaths." The Pagan reaffirmed.

Gwenevere pulled back to gauge her best friend's injuries. They were horrific. Both of her kneecaps had been broken by blunt force of some kind, and the bones in her legs were shattered. Upon seeing the full extent of her injuries, Gwenevere began to cry harder than she ever had before.

Chances were, that her friend would never walk again.

Ayeena reached up and tapped her on the arm. Gwenevere refused to look at her. She had failed to reach her in time. This was all her fault.

"Excuse me? You're...Gwenevere Taffer, correct?"

A familiar wimpy voice called out. Lost in the unending tribulation of the evening's horrors, Gwenevere was unable to answer him, or even look at him. But Nellarose, did.

"Who are you?" She looked the young man up and down.

Timothy Woksworth, smiled pitifully.

"Once, I was the Simmons families trusted attorney. But now, I am just a prisoner."  
"Simmons?!"

Ayeena's strength returned with a rush at the mention of THAT name.

"YOUS BES WORKERS WITHSIES THAT MANFOOL! NOWS I BES DEADINGS YOU!" She snarled.

Without the use of her legs, she instead threw herself at Woksworth, knocking him against the wall of the quarry. Nellarose quickly went to grab her older sister, as she began to claw and snap at the young man with brutal hate.

"Ayeena! Control yourself! What the hell's going on?!" She demanded.

Ayeena looked her sibling dead in the eyes.

"HIS MASTER BES THE ONE WHO TOOKERS GWENEVERE FROMS US! THE ONES WHOS BES BURNSIES OUR VILLAGE AND TAKERS OUR PARENTS!"

Woksworth cringed at her antics, knowing that the petite farm girl couldn't hold her voracious sister off for long.

"Stop Ayeena." Gwenevere intervened softly.

Ayeena halted her onslaught and faced her friend. The nymph was almost catatonic now, locked within her own head. Barely aware of what she was saying anymore.

"That's in the past. Besides, Woksworth had nothing to do with what happened to me. To our people."

The Pagan girl snarled in the attorney's direction, granting him a look that would slaughter a dragon.

But she did not attack him again.

Gwenevere gathered herself, staring up at the stalactites before continuing. When she did, the words almost echoed from within her in a distant, mournful voice.

"I think we should all get going. I've had enough of this place."

The nymph bent down and used her nature magic to slice through both Ayeena and Woksworth's heavy shackles. The lanky young man rubbed his arm, the pain from his torture still burning silently within.

"Whysie you frees hims?!" Ayeena directed her spite at Gwenevere this time.

Even Woksworth seemed curious as to why this was.

"Because she's a bleeding heart, that's why." A smoky voice rang from behind the four.

Gwenevere spun around and saw Garrett lurking the the darkness of the tunnel. He approached the group, his exhaustion apparent to the waning nymph.

"Garrett! Are you and Basso finished then?" She managed a small, false smile.

Garrett looked down at his boots with an annoyed sigh.

"Yeah. We're finished." Without waiting for her to answer him, the thief looked over the crippled Pagan girl at his feet. "Is this her then? Is this Ayeena?"  
"Whos are yous to bes askers that, manfool?!" The blonde asked with a grunt.

Garrett eyed her warily, then crossed his arms with smug vindication.

Of course she'd act like an unsocialized savage. Never mind that given her obvious wounds, she'd be relying on HIM to carry her out of that tomb. She was as distrusting and aloof as any other Pagan he'd met in his travels, a glint of danger present in her light hazel eyes. Garrett sighed again. He wasn't sure he wanted, let alone could, help her if she was going to be this hostile.

It was apparent that her legs were both useless. As much as he didn't like the thought, Garret knew he had no choice but to carry her out for Gwenevere's sake.

"Gets back! Yous bes no touchers me!" Ayeena snapped at his hands as Garrett went to hoist her up over his shoulder.

The thief recoiled with an irritated grunt.

"Look. Do you want help or not? Gwenevere risked her neck coming down here for you, and since I'm involved in that little rescue, the least you could do is show me some respect. Or is that just beyond you Pagans?" Garrett snorted. "Of course it is." The thief rolled his eyes.  
"Garrett!" Gwenevere retorted, taken aback by his sudden bluntness. "Ayeena's-"  
"-She's your 'friend' Gwenevere. Convince her to let me carry her, else she's going to die down here!" Garrett interrupted. "Make it quick. We're running out of time. It will be dawn soon."  
"I-" The nymph started.

But after the night he'd just had, Garrett was in no mood for her excuses.

He wanted this job to end.

"Forget it." He countered.

The thief reluctantly reached for Ayeena, but she lunged forward and bit his outstretched hand. Garrett pulled back in shock.

"Damn it! Taffing crazy Pagan!" He yelled. Ayeena just glared at him.

"Touchers me agains, and I bes tears it offsies..." She threatened.

Garrett just stared at her for a moment. Then, quick as lighting, he whacked her upside the head with his blackjack. Ayeena fell forward, unconscious.

Both Gwenevere and Nellarose were infuriated.

"Garrett! How could you do that?!" The nymph demanded.

Garrett didn't answer her. He swung the Pagan's unconscious form over his shoulder, and started out of the quarries.

Unfortunately, he didn't get very far.

"Halt! In the name of the Builder!"

A strong voice boomed from the direction the thief was heading. Garrett went to put Ayeena down and go for his gas arrows. But a blur of red halted him. All too late, he realized just what it was.

Or rather, whom.

"GWENEVERE! GET BACK HERE!" He barked, as his nymph apprentice charged the advancing Hammerites.

But she did not stop her attack, nor did she listen.

After all she had seen that night, Gwenevere was intent on slaughtering every one of those zealous bastards.


	33. Chapter 33

Like a rabid hound she was upon them, uncontrolled hatred coursing through her blood. A lashing barbed vine sprang up from the wet mud, ensnaring one of the Hammerites. The others were cast aside as Gwenevere tore her way through, only to turn on her heel to face them a second time.

"By the Builder! It's a nymph!" One of the holy warriors cried out. Looking back at Gwenevere's companions, he sneered. "Pagan savages! Kill them all!" He ordered.

Responding to his command, Gwenevere closed her eyes and began summoning whatever powers still resided within this ravaged earth. The ground split open, and a wall of magic shot up through great cracks in the stone. A sheer veil of green and gold gleamed up from below like a powerful geyser of vivid luminosity.

Directly between the little nymph and her four companions.

Gwenevere hissed as she felt her mana drain away at an alarming rate. She'd done this tonight twice already, and barrier spells required a large quantity of the precious fuel. This was because unlike her vines, sludge, or light attacks, summoning spells did not come from inside her.

Summoning, was the act of manipulating the raw world, or the corners of those beyond.

She heard Garrett yell something, but due to the blood that was now rushing through her dizzy mind, the little nymph could never hope to understand what he had said. Struggling to regain her composure, Gwenevere forced herself back into battle formation.

Eyes still hazy, she looked around at the advancing Hammers, who didn't hesitate to take advantage of her dazed state. Gwenevere hollered like a wounded animal as one of the men brought his weapon down hard against her body. Her ribs snapped under the pressure, and she heard Garrett yell again.

Gwenevere's mind snapped back, and with bestial rage, she brought her knee up into the Hammerites' unguarded groin as he went to take another wild swing. Instantly, he dropped his bludgeoning instrument and fell pitifully to his knees.

As he lay there groaning softly, Gwenevere looked up and met the eyes of her thief. He was relieved, but not enough to smile back at her. Suddenly, she realized what had him so concerned. It wasn't just the onslaught. It was the full extent of what his student had just done.

The barrier would indeed hold. Only more nature magic could dispel it this early after it had been conjured. The Hammerites, had no such magic. What they did have however, was an army of powerful men wielding bone-crushing hammers.

Gwenevere panted, half from exhaustion, and half from fear.

She was all alone now.

She'd protected her friends. Protected Garrett. But in doing so, she'd sealed herself on the side of the enemy. And it wasn't just these three she had to deal with.  
There were several more waiting back inside the cathedral.

Her god blood no longer with her, mana would not regenerate, nor hold out forever.  
Gwenevere was forced into acceptance. She could never defeat them all. Even though her instincts, coupled with what these monsters had done screamed for her to stand and fight, the nymph knew that this would only result in her death.

No, she had to rely on other, more stealthy means of escaping this place.

Using her vines and more waning earth mana, she slammed the three Hammers against the side of the quarry, brutally incapacitating them. Then, she walked up to the front of the vibrant barrier.

The young woman panted in exhaustion. There wasn't much magic left.

Gwenevere knew what little she still held in her system had to be used very wisely.

Garrett was still on the other side, a look Gwenevere had never seen before plastered across his weathered face. With a sad smile, the young woman placed her hand upon the shimmering barrier. It was warm and soothing to her touch.

"Gwenevere! What do you think you're doing?!" Garrett demanded, his voice muffled by the obstacle she had created.  
"Go. I'll catch up." She replied.

Gwenevere watched as the blood drained from Garrett's flustered expression at her words.

"What?! Gwenevere, no! You're insane if you think you can just carve your way through. Undo this damned spell and follow me out!"

He anxiously slammed both of his fists against the barrier.

"Listen to me Garrett-"  
"-Listen to you?!" The thief callously interrupted. "No Gwenevere, you need to listen to ME! YOU'RE the student under MY teachings! You have no idea what you're taking on. You can't fight them all."

The thief desperately tried to reason with her, but Gwenevere remained solemn in her intent.

"I know." Gwenevere nodded, a forlorn look residing upon her face.

Garrett's eyes widened with unwavering shock. He extended his arm and touched the opposite side of the barrier, trying to feel the little nymph's hand beneath his own. But aside from an unnatural warming sensation, he felt nothing.

"There is no other way. Besides, you've taught me well Garrett. I may still be a neophyte, but I have faith in what you've shown me. I know I can sneak my way out of here."

The worldly thief shook his head.

"Faith. Knowing. Luck. Not only are these words completely useless, they often have dastardly results for the poor fools who chose to invest their lives in them when faced with a dangerous situation. When there's danger, you need skill, resources, and most importantly, a plan. You don't have any of those things Gwenevere!" The thief exclaimed. "You're not ready. Not even close. If you go back in there, you're gonna get yourself killed."

Gwenevere drew back, seeing that this wasn't going anywhere.

"I have to."  
"No Gwenevere, you don't!" Garrett demanded harshly.

The young woman stepped back, startled by his sudden outburst. Garrett began to claw at the barrier again, frenzied and impetuous, like a frightened animal trying to pull itself free of a predator's jaws. His livid eyes seemed to clutch at hers, desperate to protect her where he knew he could not.

"Listen Garrett, I'm begging you. There isn't a lot of time. No doubt the Hammers within the factory have noticed that their gold is missing and sounded the alarm. I will need to concentrate to stand a chance against them. To make it out alive. If I take another blow like that even once, that will be the end. This was my cause Garrett. I was the one who wanted to come save Ayeena. If there are penalties for my choice, then I will be the one to pay them. Not you. I want you to survive this, even if I don't."  
"Gwenevere...don't do this."

Although he was trying to hide in from both Nellarose and Woksworth, Gwenevere could hear the stark terror lacing his words.

"Don't say that..."

The nymph smiled at him, celadon eyes alive with radiance and laughter.

"I know how uncertain battles can be, and I know that I worry you so much. You take such good care of me, and I know that you love me with all of your heart. Ever since I became your apprentice, I have wanted to do something to thank you, hoping to somehow give you just one look of how much I adore you. Now it is finally my chance to repay you, for everything that you have done for me, whether I liked it or not. Now is my chance to make you proud of me by using the talents you instilled in me and succeeding."

Gwenevere pulled free the Memory Keeper from the chain around her throat. The thief silently gasped upon spotting the object.

"I never truly earned this. Even though I successfully stole the gold that night, I didn't use your teachings to do so. This time, I will make it through by using every skill you've taught me. Please trust me..." She pleaded.

Garrett's eyes flew open as her words rang through his head like a crack of vile thunder.

Did she honestly think that he could take that as any sort of consolation?

Furthermore, did she actually expect him to abandon her?

"Gwenevere I'm not leaving you! Remove this barrier now!" He ordered, shaking his head in disbelief.

The young girl just gave him a mischievous smirk, its likeness momentarily reminding the thief of her deceased mother.

"You act as though I'm giving you a choice in the matter..."

Without waiting for him to respond, Gwenevere fled away from the enchanted wall and disappeared into the shadows.


	34. Chapter 34

Gwenevere had always admired Garrett. She regarded the man with a level of respect and devotion that would dwarf even that of most soldiers to their commanding officers, hounds to their sworn masters. The way he fluidly moved his way through the night, like a silent predator out for the hunt-from the beginning she had known him unmatchable. And no one, could ever be his equal. Even hundreds of years from this delicate point in history, when the world was faced with evolution, change, or the inevitable fall, she doubted that any one could best her beloved thief at his craft.

Perhaps this was why she had initially chosen to forgo her training. The nymph wanted to aid the people of the city, but there were more ways than theft to do that. However, what she thought no longer mattered. Whatever choices she had left to decide upon, no longer held any weight. Only one thing concerned her, as she stood before that wrought iron door, sharp agony tearing across her side and lower back.

Getting out of here, alive.

Reaching out her hand with the unsure hesitance of a curious child, Gwenevere touched the metal barricade. It was dead cold, as unfeeling and unwavering as the Hammerites who had constructed it. And just as firm in its intent to never let her leave this place.

This so-called holy pit of hell.

Try as she might, she couldn't bring herself to open it. Gwenevere was aware that once she did, a myriad of strong zealots would be upon her. Despite almost a year of apprenticeship under the greatest thief, the young woman doubted she could get past them in one piece. She just stood there, staring up at the unfeeling door. The air around her felt heavy, as though it were pushing her towards the exit. Yet at the same time, it was constricting her.

Again, she placed her hand on the doorknob, and again Gwenevere couldn't bring herself to pull. Her tiny hand began to shake, her nails tapping against the knob. A helpless sensation prompted her heart to palpitate harder against her battered ribcage. There was nothing she could do, but move on.

So move on she did.

Feeling as her insides screamed with trepidation, she tugged the door open and crept cautiously down the rustic hall. Whatever transpired within this place, only one thing was certain to the desperate creature: There was no turning back now...

*****************************************************

As she stood there, palms sweltering, fists braced, Gwenevere couldn't help but wonder if Garrett had ever been this terrified. The man had slunk his way through the darkest recesses of forbidden realms, outsmarted even the brightest and most talented souls like a sleek black cat.

Despite the fact that she was absolutely terrified, the nymph couldn't help but smile. This had only been possible, because he was Garrett. Manfool god slayer who had an uncanny and unrivaled gift for doing the impossible. Gwenevere, was no Garrett. Better rogues had tried to be, but the fact remained. There was only one Master Thief.

The hallway was a series of tight turns, some which ended in forked paths. Illuminated only by the filter of sickly torchlight, Gwenevere struggled her way through the bowels of the cathedral. Her side was throbbing now with every step. Like a protesting fury budding up from the shattered bones and quickly bruising flesh, her wound silently yelled at her to stop. To forgo this journey into unknown madness, straight into the maw of death.

Garrett's words stung like shrapnel in her eardrums. Even though his assumption about her wanting to cut her way through was wrong, Gwenevere could understand his worry. After all, she wouldn't have been the first nymph to charge blindly into combat. Her people, the Trickster's maidens, they had been doing so since the dawn of time.  
Ever since the initial split of humankind via the two gods, and the bloody centuries that followed.

Wars waged under opposed banners, brother fighting brother in the name of what each equally perceived, as truth. The nymphs were there too, but unlike the humans, they had never been presented with choice. From the moment their sun kissed petals enveloped the earthy goodness of the Woodsie Lord, they knew what truth was.  
Gwenevere, was quite possibly the first of her kind to have ever thought differently.  
Before tonight. Before she had learned of the fate of her thief's family. Before then, she had been all but indifferent towards the Hammerites. Simply out of blissful whimsy, and youthful naivety.

Now, unfortunately, she knew better.

The abrupt sound of shuffling feet caused Gwenevere's stomach to tighten. The footsteps were loud, angry. Advancing in her direction at a fast pace. The little nymph's eyes flashed in the darkness as she frantically began to search for a place to hide. But in these tight corridors, there were none.  
She ground her teeth as the sudden adrenaline rush caused her pain to intensify. There had to be something she could do!

_-Clear your thoughts, and focus on the job. It's all about the job-_

Garrett's teachings quickly filled her flustered mind as the footsteps grew ever closer. That chant of his, the one he would always recite when things got difficult, or feelings began to cloud his judgment. Although he rarely spoke it aloud, he would occasionally mutter it when she was present. One or two of the jobs he had taken her on over the last few months sprung to mind, but Gwenevere did not keep them there. Time was of the essence, and she had far more important things to ponder.

Taking a deep breath, she fought to consume herself with one thing-getting out of the Hammerite Cathedral alive. No matter how much pain her injury caused, or how fearful she became, Gwenevere silently made a vow to do just that. Some part of her knew that Ayeena's survival had been more than mere chance. Her best friend was part of her life again, and both she and the thief needed the nymph to make it out of this hell.

Gwenevere could now hear two men shouting prayers to the Builder as they ran. Again, but this time with her newfound focus, she surveyed the area for any options. But in icy terror, her eyes only returned to that mocking light above her head. There wasn't a speck of shadow in this place, regardless of the dim light of the lanterns. The hallways were just too narrow to hide in.

Just as she was about to face the oncoming threat with the last of her magic, Gwenevere happened to notice how soft the soil beneath her feet was. A mischievous smile, slowly contorted across her lips as a plan began to form within her weary mind. She couldn't hide, but that didn't mean she couldn't get past these men.

It wouldn't be easy, but after living within the city slums for so long, Gwenevere now knew that nothing worthwhile ever was. Gathering herself and closing her eyes, she pressed her body against the wet earthy walls. Moisture sank into the back of her cloak and hair as she sank in, and the battered bones in her side caused her to silently yelp once more.

Finally, Gwenevere recited Garrett's chant within her mind, the rogue's rugged expression firmly cemented behind her closed eyes. Then, they came. Charging like warriors on a battlefield of rancid death, three adamant Hammers barged into view.

"Hurry friends! I dids't hear'th alarms from the Quarry. Brother Harold is in trouble, mayhaps!" One demanded, the others trailing behind him like moths to a flame.

So absorbed in their hunt were the zealots, that they ran directly past the quaking girl.

Gwenevere waited until their pacing subsided; the hallway of the cavern fading once again into calming emptiness before prying herself away from the moist wall. She would have breathed relief, if not for the agony now tearing at her side. Instead, she ground her teeth again as the tears pricked at her eyelids, and continued on her way.

********************************************************************

Upon exiting back out of the Inquisition chamber, Gwenevere uncomfortably realized that the hallway was to be the least of her problems in escaping this place. While incredibly bright for an underground labyrinth, the sheer luminance of the inner cathedral now blinded her.

Despite her imminent peril, the curious nymph stood spellbound by the heart of the rival faction's temple. The light from the multiple chandeliers overhead shone down upon her head, bright as the sun. Glorious, monolithic stained glass depictions of the Hammerite religion and the Master Builder himself towered above a large white marble alter. The surface was adorned with a long red drapery and four candles, each of their wicks kissed by an amber flame.

Past this podium, were two rows of pews, ten on each side. They were carved from a dark wood, possibly rosewood. Gwenevere had heard that this particular wood had holy meaning, although her people would never kill and carve it like this to service their religion. A chill flew down her spine as the nymph began to wonder what exactly a tree's dying words would be.

"Halt! What doust thou Anvil think'st she do within thy temple before dawn's first prayer?"

A demanding, accusing voice nearly caused Gwenevere to leap out of her skin. She whirled around to face another Hammerite. Temporarily forgetting that she was still wearing her disguise, she panicked, and started to tear off across the polished floor.

"Stop at once!" The zealot demanded, running after her.

Gwenevere didn't listen. Even if he thought her one of the women from the nunnery, she had apparently already broken one of the cathedral rules in front of him. Thus, her punishment was sealed.

She stumbled over a dropped tome, but she dared not look back as she fought to regain her footing. She could hear the Hammer gaining on her weakened form, but she dared not look behind her for fear of tripping again. Her sides were screaming again, demanding to know what she thought she was doing. But Gwenevere refused to be disabled.

Dodging into a nearby closet, she fumbled for the doorknob and abruptly locked it.

He was getting closer.

Gwenevere panted, doubled over and clutching her injury. The pain of breathing seemed to let up a minuscule amount when she did that. He was there. Just outside now. Gwenevere could practically feel the hot breath as it left his mouth and nose. For now, he was clueless, searching. The question was, how long would it last?

She backed up further into the recesses of the closet, eyes darting wildly for any place to hide. But aside from a few brooms and empty potion flasks, the desperate nymph found nothing of substance. She felt a tremble ripple through her legs and she swallowed hard as the Hammerite jiggled the doorknob.

"Ah-hah! I knew it! This door's supposed to be unlocked!"

Sweat dribbled down the poor girl's face, as the sound of a key finding a lock could be heard.

******************************************************

A terrible feeling of hopelessness filled her belly as she locked eyes with him. How could she possibly escape now? He had her cornered, and between pain and exhaustion, Gwenevere knew that she couldn't run fast enough. In times like this, Garrett would use a flash bomb. But Gwenevere had no such means of defending herself. She had deigned to listen to his advice regarding her spore grenades, thinking that she would never need to carry such dangerous tools.

And now...now, she was about to pay the ultimate price for her foolery.

"Thy Builder guided min here, stated that this was where a cowardly Anvil hid from his will. What doust thou hath to say for thineself, Anvil? Speak now, lest thee feel the wrath of my hammer for thy transgressions!" He demanded.

The cold chill of despair started to settle over her person in resignation as she began to accept the almost guaranteed fate she would face at the hands of this holy man.  
But then, she began to think of her thief again. Of the seeds. Of Ayeena and Nellarose. Sophie and Basso. Pilfur and even Erin, the blue-eyed girl who harbored mixed feelings for the little nymph.

Defiantly, Gwenevere slowly rose to her feet. Her thin brows furrowed as she faced the Hammerite, armed only with a single object.

The broom.

"You're Builder was wrong. I'm no Anvil."

With that abrupt statement, Gwenevere rammed the handle of the broom into his groin, and gave a firm twist. The large man gasped from the unexpected pain, then dropped abruptly to his knees. Stepping out of the spacious closet, Gwenevere dropped the broom and instead reached for her downed foe's weapon.

She struggled to hoist the metal hammer. As she did so a sharp, cutting agony tore at her side. Never before had she wanted to scream so badly, but Gwenevere knew this would only allow the others to find her. Her magic was almost completely depleted now. Instead, she once again ignored her protesting injury, and rammed the pommel into the base of the Hammerites's head.

It was a clean hit, and not nearly hard enough to smash. Ironically, this was the first time the zealot's hammer had ever delivered a non-lethal strike. Once the Hammerite was unconscious, Gwenevere stood over his body, staring pensively at the stunned, yet strangely peaceful expression upon his face.

"This is where Garrett would hoist the body up and hide it. But..." She hissed as the pain in her side promptly reminded her of the dire situation.

Looking down at the man again, a spark of creativity caught the recesses of her tired subconscious.

Skipping to the other end of the temple, Gwenevere grabbed a bottle of wine from atop the alter. Returning to the downed Hammerite, she playfully tucked it beneath his listless arm. Upon uncorking the bottle, the mischievous creature couldn't help but giggle.

Apart from his menacing face and heavy armor, he now looked just like Basso on a Sunday afternoon.


	35. Chapter 35

The thief ran, fighting his every urge to turn back around. He clenched his arm tighter around the unconscious Pagan girl, his tired eyes riddled with both determination and a primal unrest. Blood found his mouth as the distraught man bit his lip.

_Damn it, Gwenevere..._

For nearly a year now, he had kept her under his thumb, never letting the flighty nymph leave his field of vision. Although internally, Garrett had already known that she would do as she pleased. They always did. Despite her broken spirit, Garrett had never fully believed Gwenevere to be domesticated.

Simmons had held power over her, but he was still nothing but a coward. Cowardice could never tame a wild nymph. It had wounded her confidence, crippled her power, but not fully destroyed what she was.

And as such, Garrett didn't believe her for a second. She was a wild creature, and always would be. His folly months earlier to try and humanize her now lay strewn within the recesses of his mind, along with all of his previous life errors.

No matter what the reward, never let down your guard. Trust will only get you killed.  
Garrett had learned this lesson with the loss of his right eye.

Gwenevere had never learned such a lesson. And it was her trusting nature that inevitably caused him more alarm than the prospect of her blindly charging a roomful of armed Hammers.

Once back within the confines of dark ally, Garrett looked up at the great city that had been his home since birth. A large misty storm was building.

"E-excuse me?" The thief whirled around to Nellarose's voice.

He answered her not with words, but rather a pensive and rather unnerving glare. The teen took a step back. She knew there was no reason to fear him. But with the darkness at his back and the silent coldness in his eyes, he looked positively intimidating.

"Where are we going? The forest is that way." She pointed.

Garrett rolled his eyes and groaned as he set Ayeena down. He propped her back up against the wall of the grungy alley.

"Yeah, about that. I told Gwenevere I'd carry her out, which I have." He drove his stare into Nellarose once more. "But I am NOT going back into the Pagan woods. For anyone."

Nellarose shot him a poisonous glare.

"What?! How the taff is my sister supposed to get there on her own? She's-" The teen choked back a wad of tears as she looked down at her sister's smashed legs. "You can't just leave her here. That's cruel!"

Garrett looked the teen over with a sneer.

"Oh, is life really so idyllic back where you come from? Do the Pagans, Growers, or whatever you are, not know suffering?"  
"We don't leave people lying crippled in the street!" Nellarose screeched.  
"No, your kind makes sure they never move again."

Before Nellarose could respond, a strong female voice found the back of the moonlit alleyway.

"Garrett? Who's that with you?"

The thief looked up to see a very concerned Sophie rushing towards him. Before Garrett could react, she threw her arms around him.

"Basso informed me that there was a snag in the heist. Thank the gods you're okay! Why he didn't stay to help smooth things over, I have no clue..."

The boxman's sister rolled her eyes, releasing the frozen man from her relieved embrace.

Garrett answered her with the usual awkward silence that happened during his conversations with Sophie.

"Where's Gwenevere?" She asked.

The thief emitted a deep sigh, and pointed up towards the Hammerite Cathedral. Sophie's pupils dilated with unwavering terror

"What!? You mean she's still in there?!" She gasped.

Garrett gave her a brisk nod. The silence that followed was surreal.

"Garrett, you can't be serious! You just left her in there?!" Sophie was horrified.

Garrett's eyes flew open.

"She told me to go!" He snarled.  
"Oh, and you just listened to the words of a child? Garrett-she has absolutely no idea what she's doing in there!"  
"Don't you think I know that?!"  
"I know you do Garrett! That's why I can't believe you would just abandon her in there!"

The scene that followed was one that the older woman never expected to witness, even if she lived a thousand years. Garrett turned away from her, as was per usual. But then he buried his face within his palms.

"Do you think that I really wanted it this way? She erected a magical barrier. She drained herself of magic to fence us off from the Hammerites. To protect ME."

He shook his head in numb disbelief.

"Stupid girl...why would she do that for me?!"

This time, it was the thief who was answered with silence by disbelieving ears. Through the murky haze of early morning, Sophie's initial rage was replaced by utmost pity.

_Oh Garrett. Will you never realize just how much she cares for you?_

The thief exhaled hot air into the balmy night, and slowly regained his angsty composure. Glaring back down at Nellarose and Ayeena, he addressed the former.

"I did what I told her I would. I want you both to understand that this was never my idea." He shot Sophie a callous sneer. "And for your information, I was going back in after her."  
"I just wanted to make sure." Sophie remarked with strong maternal authority in her voice. "You're not exactly used to-"  
"-Look, for once can you just stay out of my damned business Sophie?" The thief retorted harshly.  
"Not where Gwenevere is concerned, no. I'll be damned if I allow you to hurt her or get her killed!" The boxman's sister raised her voice.  
"Well I'm not gonna let that happen, so I suppose you can just go home now." Garrett advised with a dry grumble.

He had been through enough of her badgering for one night.

Deciding that answering the thief would only result in more arguing, Sophie instead turned her attentions back to the three strangers accompanying him. She of course recognized Nellarose, and she assumed the unconscious girl at her feet to be Ayeena.

Turning to the young man, Sophie gave him a curious look.

"And who are you then?"  
"Oh! Allow me to introduce myself! I, am Timothy Woksworth."  
"Huh. Well, since you ended up being part of the quarry rescue, can I assume that you're a Pagan then, Mr. Woksworth?" The youth released a nervous chuckle.  
"No, not as such. I was born and raised Hammerite. But evidently, that wasn't enough to keep the High Priest from treating me like one."

There was a sincere bitterness in his voice; enough cause for Garrett to examine the lad from over his cloaked shoulder. Sophie looked back down at Ayeena. While she was no doctor, the older woman could tell that the Pagan girl was in pretty bad shape.

"I'm sure it's a fascinating story, but for now we need to get Ayeena back to my apartment. She needs desperate medical attention."

The thief's eyes flew open at this.

"What?! Sophie, you can't be serious! You'd honestly just let two nature freaks and a Hammer into your home?"  
"I-I'm not just a Hammerite, good sir. I'm also an attorney." Woksworth corrected.  
"That supposed to make me feel any better?"  
"I am afraid that I must agree with Garrett, for once." A wizened voice called from the shadows.

Keeper Mcclay waltzed into view, a solemn and rather depressed expression plastered across his wrinkled face.

"Though your heart is true, miss, it would be foolish to reveal the location of your safe house so freely."

Sophie looked up at the Keeper and made a face.

"Excuse me?! It's MY home, I'll decide who I trust therein, thankin' ya kindly."  
"Ah, yes. But should you not also be concerned for the welfare of those who rely on it's secretive nature?" Mcclay countered. Sophie was blindsided. "I shall take these two with me. Mr. Woksworth, you are free to come along, if you so wish."

It was when he smiled, that Timothy Woksworth finally recognized just whom it was he was looking at.

"You're Cedric Mcclay! Bloody hell! Nice of you to tell me you were leaving town!"  
"I do apologize for the change in plans, but certain happenings required immediate action."  
"Yeah, tailing my apprentice for one." The thief muttered under his breath.  
"Well, that stands to reason, Mr. Garrett! After all, Cedric Mcclay was enlisted as Gwenevere's appointed caretaker, should Simmons perish before her coming of age."  
"What?!" Garrett locked eyes with the elderly Keeper, nearly breathless from rage. "Simmons, knew you?!"  
"Unfortunately, it was I who knew him. Simmons was never aware of my true nature." Mcclay gave a sad smile.  
"What do you mean he was Gwenevere's..." Garrett's blood grew hot as the puzzle completed itself within his weary mind. "You were in on Simmons' little scheme, weren't you? That's why you've been stalking her, isn't it?!"

Woksworth and Sophie gasped as the thief produced his bow from his quiver. The sharp point of a serrated arrowhead was aimed between the bemused Keeper's eyes. Mcclay adjusted them upward to meet the fury in those of the thief.

"Start talkin'." Garrett demanded.  
"Whatever happened to killing is unnecessary?" The elder chided.  
"Whatever happened to Keepers remain detached from the other factions?" The thief countered.

Mcclay sighed, a bit irked that the thief had just revealed his identity to the small group.

"If we did that, then knowledge pertaining to the other factions would be that much harder to come by, now wouldn't it? Exceptions are made on the rare occasion, and every Keeper has their secrets. In that regard, you and I have more in common than you think Garrett."  
"I'm no Keeper. I'm nothing like you." Garrett growled, pulling back the drawstring of his bow.

Just as he had finished speaking, a brisk movement caught the corner of Garrett's mechanical eye.

Releasing Mcclay from his sights, he instead aimed at this new threat. He knew this being, and the knowledge of what it was caused the hairs along the back of his neck to stand, brushing against the inside of his hood. As the resulting shudder traversed his spine, Garrett could hear the being whispering in a low, spectral tone.

It was indeed more dangerous than the wayward Keeper before him now.

"I'm going inside now, Keeper Mcclay." It said in a low, spectral tone, before darting across the rooftops towards the Hammerite Cathedral.  
"So, you brought your buddy with you when you left Nethalzia." Garrett griped.  
"She never ventures far from my side. Sandris is very loyal to her training."  
"Sandris?" The thief replaced his weapon with a shocked expression. "Enforcers are forever torn from their names by Keeper regulations. They're reduced to little more than merciless, obedient killers."  
"Sandris does not operate under the official Keeper faction rules. She is different. Free, for the most part. Before her initiation, she volunteered to become my personal bodyguard. We now travel together wherever we need to go. On occasion, she can carry out tasks which I cannot."  
"Such as?"  
"Such as, assuring that your Gwenevere makes it out of that place alive."  
"That's unnecessary. I was about to go back in before you and Sophie showed up." The miserable thief defended. Turning around, he started back towards the cathedral. "Taff this. I'm leaving. No way that 'pet' of yours is getting to Gwenevere before I do, Mcclay."  
"Why such hate for the Enforcers, Garrett?" Mcclay kept his composure as he spoke.

Garrett's last acknowledgment-a bitter look which tore into the elder's subconscious-caused his growing concern for the thief to bubble and fester.

"If you don't know, then you have some reading to catch up on."

The old Keeper watched the cloaked man dash off across the city streets with a disturbed frown. He wasn't the only one.

"Stubborn fool. I don't understand him, no matter how hard I try sometimes." Sophie remarked, still staring at the cobblestone streets where Garrett had been standing moments earlier.  
"The greatest minds have tried and failed, my dear lady." Mcclay commented. "The Master Thief is truly an enigma to us all."


	36. Chapter 36

**THE CITY CLOCKTOWER**  
**7 MONTHS AGO**

The full moon was pale ivory that night, shimmering like a crystalized beacon against the frozen sea of stars. Garrett sat in focused silence, staring pensively at the map in front of him. Cunningham's Boutique. It had been years since he had broken in that place, thus the newly updated map he had procured. The shop had since installed a series of air shafts, and the thief was intending to use them to his full advantage.

Basso wanted the raw materials stored inside. For what case, Garrett didn't know. He didn't want to know. It had been a very long time since he had done a personal job for the boxman, and this was the last thing Garrett had expected. No doubt they were intended for whatever flashy middle-class tart Basso was trying to woo at the moment.

From across the room, he could hear Gwenevere. Garrett glanced over at the girl, annoyed by all the ruckus she was making. How she managed to make so much noise with so little around her had always been an absolute mystery to him. The thief turned to look at her as her rustles and grunts of frustration grew more obnoxious.

"Stop it." He demanded, in a level, uninterested voice.

Gwenevere spun around, causing her short skirt to momentarily ride up her thighs, revealing more of them than she had ever intended. Seeing this Garrett abruptly turned away, shielding his eyes with his hand.

Or rather, the slight blush the sight of her forbidden flesh had caused to dart across his unsuspecting face.

"Garrett? Am I bothering you?" She asked in a whiny yet enduring tone.  
"Yes, you're bothering me!" He snapped. "What have I told you about that outfit? Just because you're not on a job, doesn't mean you should be wearing that."  
"My outfit?" Gwenevere's eyes grew wide. "But I like this outfit! It's pretty."

Garrett looked down at the map again and scowled.

She could say that again.

"Isn't it just a little uncomfortable?" He asked, projecting more than a few of the strange, nagging emotions he had been feeling towards the young Simmons runaway.

Gwenevere giggled.

"Of course not silly! It's silk!" She stepped away from whatever she had been doing and marched right up to the situated thief. "See? Feel how soft it is." She offered, holding out the rim of her skirt for the thief. Garrett retained his discomfort.  
"I'd rather not. There is no reason to."  
"But why?" Gwenevere cocked her head.  
"Because," Garrett finally looked up at her, "that's not the sort of thing a thief should be wearing."

The young woman pondered this for a moment, looking up at the ceiling of the clock tower with her index finger planted against her bottom lip.

"Well, what should I be wearing then?"  
"Something dark. Something comfortable and easy to move in. Being a thief is about not getting caught. That harlot outfit, is for the exact opposite purpose."

He could feel himself growing leery of her effect on him once more.

"So, I should dress like you!"  
"In a matter of speaking..." Garrett grumbled.

Gwenevere was silent as she pondered this for several moments. Then, she asked the fateful question.

"Can I try your cloak on?"

The thief gaped up at her in unwavering disbelief.

"What?! No, of course not!" He snapped. "Why would you even consider asking me that?"  
The young woman looked hurt for a moment, but she quickly grew jovial again as a new idea filled her head.  
"How come you never take it off?"  
"I do. When I'm asleep."  
"But, we're inside now. There's no rain, or guards, or anything. C'mon! Just take it off!" She urged, taking a step closer.  
"No." Garrett barked.

His annoyance usually hurt or bothered her. But whether it was the full moon, or something else, Gwenevere's playful side was extra powerful that night.

"Lemme see what you keep under there!" She demanded, giggling again.

Garrett was flabbergasted. He struggled to get out of his chair, but the young woman side-stepped him and reached for the dark hood. He sharply pushed her hand away.

"Back off brat!"

The candlelight danced and flickered against Gwenevere's fiery locks as she reached out, and pulled his hood free with the other hand. Once again, Garrett fought to deflect her.

"Come on! It looks so soft and warm, just let me wear it for one night!"  
"No!"  
"But, it's so cold Garrett..." She whimpered expectantly.

The thief's harsh gaze locked up at her pitiful words, leaving him temporarily blindsided.

"Gwenevere, why didn't you tell me you were-"  
"-Gotcha!" She cheered, finally managing to pull the hood down.

Unfortunately, it was still attached to the long billowing cloak-and Garrett was sitting on that at the moment. The weight difference between Garrett and Gwenevere caused her pull to drag her down as the hood refused to come free. Garrett tensed as the young woman did a rather clumsy faceplant against his chest.

That was when the chair topped over, sending them both to the floor.

Instantly, the harsh landing was disrupted by something far more shocking. Thief and noble lay there, staring at each other in blatant shock. Gwenevere's lips parted, her face almost glowing from her bright red blush. Garrett stared back at her with a similar expression. His hood was down now, leaving his messy dark brown hair visible.

"I'm..." Gwenevere started, trying to apologize.

But the words wouldn't come.

She felt the thief twitch beneath her. She couldn't tell if he was trying to dislodge her, or something else. Regardless, he still refused to speak. Her eyes were large, glassy green saucers now. They bore into the thief, completely captivated.

Smitten.

As much as she didn't want to, Gwenevere hesitantly slid her body off of his and stood. She offered a hand to Garrett, along with an apologetic smile.

"You okay?" She grinned.

The thief shook himself and tugged the hood back over his hair.

"I'm fine!" He barked, standing on his own. "No thanks to you!"

Gwenevere's smile slunk down into a disappointed frown.

"I'm sorry."

With that, she sulked off to the bend in the stairway where she slept. Curling up on her own navy blue cloak, the shattered girl fought to hold back her tears. Sleep soon took her.

Once she was asleep, Garrett replaced the chair and resumed his work. He rubbed the small bump on his head he had sustained from the fall, and groaned. Looking back at Gwenevere, the thief sighed hard. Though he would never say it, the expression on his face spoke volumes.

_I'm sorry too._

*******************************************************  
**THE CRIPPLED BURRICK TAVERN**  
**PRESANT DAY:**

Erin sat at the bar, watching as the bartender refilled her shot glass with a dark orange, rather vile liquid. Closing her eyes, she chugged it down. It burned, but not nearly as much as the mark on her left hand. Ross's doing.

She hadn't made her decision quick enough for his liking, and the thug had punished her grievously for that. It was a traitor's punishment, a brand that would forever mark her as untrustworthy within underworld society. Erin figured that she could just hide it with a glove and still get work, but that was beside the point.

The Ramirez bastard hadn't given her the brand to mark her-he had done so to warn her.

Erin knew that she had to decide, and fast what she planned to do about Gwenevere's contract. It was her life or that of the nymph. But there was a disgusting twist:  
If she did assassinate her, Erin would also be severing all contact with many of the sources she needed in order to survive.

Sophie would never allow her to set foot back within her safe house, Basso wouldn't give her work, and Garrett...

The raven-haired girl rolled her eyes with a sigh.

If it hadn't been for her father-figure's hypocrisy, his care for that childish little pixie. If not for that, killing her would be such an easy choice to make. The assassin had never cared for her, even if she had saved her a few months back. Gwenevere was just too...sweet. And frankly, that bothered her.

"Hey you! Haven't seen you in here for a while!" Basso chuckled, approaching the bar where Erin sat.

She swung her legs around the side of her chair and smirked at the boxman.

"I'm not in here nearly as much as you."  
"Heh, yeah. What's with that? I'd figger with the sort of work you do, ya'd need ta put a few back now and again." He teased.  
"My gear tends to be pretty expensive, especially after the recent inflation." Erin replied, coolly brushing a short strand of black hair out of her face.  
"Ah, yeah. That's a bitch." Basso took a seat beside her. "Well, ya know...I could go outta my way ta buy ya a pint, so long as ya come and visit yer uncle Basso." He winked.

Erin scoffed.

"C'mon Basso. I'm not twelve anymore."  
"Naw, which is why I offered ta buy you a drink." The boxman commented. "Besides, what's the harm in keeping a few memories under my hat?"

Erin's blue eyes went back to her empty shot glass. The bartender had refilled it again when she wasn't looking. A small, tired smile found her dark lips.

"You know Basso? I might just be taking you up on that, after this next job." She weakly joked.  
"It ain't anyone I know, is it?" Basso laughed.

Erin felt a chill run down her spine, and her smile disappeared instantly. She was silent for longer than she'd anticipated before awkwardly trying to regain her composure.

"I can't tell you that." She managed. "Contract rules."  
"Aww, naw! Ya know I'm just joking kid!"

Basso boomed with laughter. Erin joined in with a false grin.

"So, how's Garrett?" She asked, desperate to change the subject.

Basso reclined back on his stool, cracking his knuckles.

"He was still an arrogant bastard last time I checked." The boxman huffed, their argument back at the Hammerite Cathedral still fresh within his mind.

Erin's grin expanded.

"Good to know nothing's changed."  
"He don't change! That's the whole bloody problem!" Basso continued. "Christ, ya'd think that after SHE came into his life, maybe that taffer would've learned how ta loosen up. But no!" He took a swig of ale.

Erin downed her shot glass at the mention of Gwenevere.

"How was Gwenevere supposed to change anything?" She mused sarcastically. Basso gave her a look of disbelief.  
"You serious, or just drunk hun?" He crooked an eyebrow at her. Erin said nothing. "That gal's allowed him ta breathe and think about things. She's given him a real life, or at least some semblance of one. She'd do anything fer him, an' she's loyal despite the way he acts sometimes. Hell, don't get me started on her little revenge against the general..."  
"The...general?"

Erin's curiosity and dread were synonymously piqued. For sanity's sake, she hoped that it wasn't the same general she had in mind.

"Yeah, yeah. The Thief-Taker General, ya know?" Basso continued, sipping at his ale again. Erin shuddered.

Saying she knew of him was a gross understatement indeed.

"What about him?" She croaked.  
"Ya mean he never told ya?" Basso stared at the blankness of her expression for any clues. "Huh. No, of course he wouldn't. Private bastard..." The boxman continued.  
"Basso, lets not talk about-"

Erin's protests fell on deaf ears, as the older man was too inebriated to focus on her at the moment.

"-Well lemme jus' say this! That-bastard'had 'im ontha ropes thar," he pointed and swerved in the young woman's direction, "he wis' there tryin' ta buss me outta jail, see? Then the general jus' comes on in, an' gits him!" He hiccupped.  
"Alright." Erin propped her chin up under her fist.  
"He saiddit was poison, er...somefing'...used ta drug 'im. Garrett woke up inna torture chamber 'an that's when things got...urp...bad..."

Erin, was mortified. Her blue eyes flashed, and instantly all prior hints of oncoming intoxication drained out of her. Giving way to an unyielding torrent of despair and unrivaled concern. Garrett had been tortured by that bastard?!

"When?! What happened?" She demanded.  
"Eh, he taffed up 'is hand. Gwenevere heard. Soddin' girl never ever listened to-a word he had ta say...she came outta hidin' an..." Basso was hesitant, leaning in closer to share his secret. "Well...ya did hear how his body was found, yeah?"

A rush of adrenaline hit her hard, fully dousing the effects of alcohol from her system. With disturbing realization, it all began to unfold before her. To make sense.  
Erin had rarely felt anything even remotely resembling joy during her time as a kidnap victim. But the one moment that had brought her solace, had been when Aldous and Heleana mentioned the Thief-Taker General's gristly murder in conversation.

A justified smile had found her lips that day.

He deserved every bit of what he had gotten.

But she had never known just how he had died, other than it had been savage and bloody. Certainly not the style of the accused; the man whom had raised her. Garrett had only killed once whilst Erin was in his custody, and he had a very good reason for doing it. It had been clean, and painless.

The exact opposite of the general's brutal slaughter.

"Gwenevere...SHE did it, didn't she?" Erin was numb with shock. Basso slowly nodded.  
"But'cha didn't hear it from me kid. A'right?"

Erin managed a weak, silent nod. It all made sense now.

The large amounts of blood. The claw marks. The anguished expression found on the unwitting general's face.

Erin had seen such killings before, in an almost recessed nightmare.

The wood beast had killed the Thief-Taker General that night.

Or rather, Gwenevere had. In order to protect her thief.

An unspoken respect and incomparable guilt swept across the dark-haired assassin. Gwenevere had done two things that night that Erin was undeniably grateful for. She had saved Garrett's life, AND, she had dealt fierce justice upon a man who had never been punished for any of his many crimes.

"Welp, that's all Igotta say..." The boxman gave her a drunken smirk. "Good talk kid, but I gotta go takea piss..."

As Basso burped and stood with a sway, Erin sat paralyzed. Looking back down at her empty shot glass, her blue eyes shimmered with stubborn, icy tears.

There was no way she could possibly kill Gwenevere now. Not after that.

Which meant there was only one possible option left to keep the dagger from her throat.


	37. Chapter 37

The Hammerite Cathedral was in a state of riled panic by the time Garrett had scaled the outer wall. Dawn's first heavenly blue glow was just becoming prominent over the misty world, but already, the zealots had discovered his escapades the night before. From the factory, the thief could hear blaring alarms, and loud, angry shouts. Concealed beneath the shadows of a trees summer canopy, Garrett rubbed his temples.

The gold heist, had been an utter disaster.

"That's the last damn time I take Basso anywhere." He murmured.

The Master Thief silently stared downward into the desperate chaos of the courtyard below. No sign of Gwenevere out there.

Garrett had no clue where she was at that moment, and frankly, it was terrifying. The thought of her being injured or fighting for her life caused his pulse to quicken. It also stirred up very toxic memories of her late mother.

The way she had died at the mercy of her own hubris. It never ceased to bother Garrett, the way Viktoria still twisted her way into his thoughts from time to time. He didn't think of her the same way anymore though. Not after the nightmare turned curse.

Not after Gwenevere.

But even so, it was extremely unnerving to be reflecting on her at all. Garrett's eyes abruptly narrowed; but not because of his thoughts. It was of something else.

There was someone else there.

Groping a flash bomb snug beneath his gloved hand, the thief inched further back into the shadows. A part of him already knew that this act was somewhat pointless. The Hammerites would have more trouble finding him, but he was already well hidden. Never mind the fact that their current focus was consumed by something of far greater precedence than a petty nocturnal criminal.

As for the real threat...Garrett knew she had already sensed him.

Enforcers were, in his opinion, more animal than man. They followed orders like trained dogs, and killed as mercilessly as feral beasts. Intelligence and strength were their tools, regardless of the so-called stealth training the Keepers bragged about.  
What bothered him however, was the fact that she answered to Mcclay.

As far as Garrett knew, the elder held no place of authority on the Keeper hierarchy tree. If anything, it seemed he wanted to distance himself as far as possible from his peers. Garrett frowned.

Bad blood with the Keepers, tended to be mutual. So what had they done to Mcclay to irk him so? Or perhaps more disturbing; what had he done to them? And why did he have not only an apprentice at his beckoned call, but also an Enforcer?!

"You disrupt my mission, thief."

A sudden, spectral voice almost caused the thief to gasp. Quietly regaining himself, Garrett clutched the flash bomb tighter beneath his cloak.

"It isn't your mission. Your 'owner' just so happened to force himself into my business."

A loud, almost deafening otherworldly snarl of protest burned within the recesses of Garrett's mind at this.

"KEEPER MCCLAY, IS NOT MY OWNER!" The Enforcer defended.  
"You're one of the Keeper's loyal dogs; haven't their brainwashing glyphs convinced you of that?"

Sandris silently hissed at his apathetic remark.

"Enough out of you! You don't know what the hell you're talking about!" She hollered, charging towards his hiding place.

Garrett heard her coming, and easily retreated further down the wall, positioning himself behind an ancient statue of the Master Builder. He listened with a smug grin as her launched spell missed, causing its caster to hiss.

"Oh I see. He hasn't trained you very well. Here, my sympathies." He quipped, finally tossing the flash bomb at her.

He listened, grin expanding as she protested to the sudden flash of brilliant luminosity.

"Taffing bastard! I'll gut you for this!" Sandris yelled, desperately clutching her hands up over her mask.

Although her attack missed him, Garrett found himself feeling curious enough to glance out from behind the statue at her.

To his knowledge, once their bodies became emblazoned and enchanted with Glyphs, Enforcers could no longer feel basic, or as they perceived, weak, human emotions. Such as desire, sadness, or even anger. When they had pursued him years ago, it hadn't been fury that drove their pursuit. It had been blind obedience to the order Orland had given.

So why then, had this Enforcer just cursed at him out of a very personal anger?

Pondering these things, Garrett scanned the outer courtyard of the Hammerite Cathedral a second time. There were no longer any of the burly zealots in view, and the thief figured that this could not last long. He had to take and use the opportunity wisely, else he would never reach Gwenevere on time.

Murderous Enforcer or not, that was exactly what he was going to do.

Garrett clambered down the darkest side of the wall he could, hoping that his pursuer wouldn't take this opportunity to regain her composure and strike at him again.  
Thankfully, she didn't notice his decent.

But she did regain her sense of him as he turned the corner of the cathedral, and began to unlock the back door.

He had just located and begun to press upwards on the first pin, when the handle to the door in question rattled, knocking the thief's lockpicks from his unsuspecting hands. Garrett hurriedly stood and leapt back from the door. Reaching for his blackjack, he remained firm and readied himself for whoever would come through that door. Gwenevere's life, depended on it.

As the door opened, Garrett felt a wave of mixed emotions surge through him. Relief was accompanied by a twinge of shock, as the broken little nymph fought to push the door open with her shoulder. Gwenevere was panting heavily, and Garrett could tell instantly that she was in a great deal of pain.

He had taken a mere two steps towards her, when his metal prosthetic caught glimpse of the Enforcer rushing towards him. Glaring into the thief with her cold, dead eyes.

"You disrupt my mission!" It once again proclaimed in a menacing tone.

Beyond the mask, the coal eyes began to glow a turquoise hue, as the Keeper assassin produced a silver, glyph-enhanced blade.

"And you WILL die for it!"

Garrett whirled around and swiftly retrieved a gas bomb from his knapsack. He was just about to chuck it at the enigmatic being, when a single, choked sentence halted both the thief and the assassin's attacks.

"Wait! He's part of the mission." Gwenevere coughed. "Keyper Mcclay sent you didn't he? Trust me, he wouldn't want Garrett dead. He's one of you."

Garrett gnashed his teeth with a barely audile hiss at her words. Him? Like the Keepers, regardless of what they believed? Like this puppet of theirs?! Utterly ridiculous, even for Gwenevere's usual brand of naivety.

Regardless, he remained complacent as she tried to reason with Sandris. The nymph had been through enough that evening-no sense adding his disdain to her already mounting agony.

Seemingly dead black eyes slowly turned on the broken nymph as she emerged from the shadows. There, the Enforcer remained stationary. Almost unnaturally so. Silence passed between the three, whilst Gwenevere and Sandris silently communicated in a natural sense that those who were not sensitive to it could never comprehend.

The language of the earth.

After about five minutes of this, the Enforcer slowly turned her gaze onto the bewildered thief. Then, she did the unexpected. Granting Gwenevere's request for mercy, she took a very obvious and subordinate step back away from Garrett.

Garrett stared at her, apprehensive.

"Garrett, it's okay. She promised not to attack you. I told her everything, and she understands." Gwenevere wheezed. "The last of my magic. I had to make sure I didn't need it, so I waited until I had gotten out of there to dispel the barriers. There's...no trace now..."

It was the last thing she would be capable of for some time. The last of her energy, both magical and physical spent, she collapsed to her knees.

Giving a mechanical hiss of defiance, Garrett's right eye zoomed in on her critical condition. The stress lines that framed the sides of his nose became more prominent as the thief's lips contorted into a concerned frown.

When he saw a dribble of blood trail past her lips, the thief instantly feared the worst.

Temporarily ignoring the formidable Enforcer, Garrett ran to her side.

"Where are you hurt?" He demanded, sounding breathless.

Gwenevere looked up into his fazed expression through curious, dancing eyes.

He hadn't been running had he? Why was he breathing so hard?

"Garrett, I'll be okay." She hiccupped as the pain protested otherwise, and she fought the urge to pass out.

Seeing her wince only caused Garrett's concern to mount.

"Answer my question now Gwenevere!" He snarled in that oh-so familiar authoritative tone usually reserved for her lessons. "Where are you hurt?" As he continued to press her, the Enforcer suddenly removed their mask and hood.

Soft brunette hair did a brilliant job of framing her face, from which two cyan eyes stared angrily at the scene before her. One was lighter than the other, but still blazed with equal fury. She spoke up again, although for whatever reason, this time the spectral tone had deserted her tongue.

Sandris, now sounded like any other young woman within the city walls-if not for her brazen personality which seethed and twisted around her every word.

"She's broken her ribs." The Enforcer commented, knowledgeably.

Garrett continued to ignore her, though her words were heard. They only fed his building worry over the little creature at his side.

"Gwenevere, is this true?"

Gwenevere flinched again, fighting the ever-growing urge to grab at her side. She knew this would only cause the pain to worsen tremendously. After all, she'd suffered broken ribs before-absorbed them with a healing spell in a nightmare long ago from the man who now held her.

"Yes, they're broken," the nymph ground her teeth. Thinking about her pain only made it hurt more. "But I can get back okay."  
"No," Sandris intercepted again, "broken ribs can be fatal if not treated thoroughly. They can puncture her skin and organs if left unchecked."

The thought of Gwenevere's precious flesh and organs being perforated and killing her caused Garrett's breathing to intensify. He looked down at Gwenevere again, and grew mortified.

She was growing weaker, and was barely aware of what was going on anymore. He could tell from the listless stare she held, firmly affixed to the dry earth, frozen as if her guts had just spilled out before them. No doubt about it, she was fading.

"Listen to me, thief. She may not have much time left. She may already be penetrated."

Sandris informed the thief, as he tried desperately to calm the delirious nymph held within his arms. Garrett glared up at her.

"I have matters well in hand." He sneered.  
"Be that as it may, I still have my orders, thief." She warned. Garrett locked eyes with her.  
"Don't even try it..."

Unfortunately, Gwenevere didn't hear their argument. The world around her was little more than a fuzzy blur of color and muffled noise at this point. She fought to force her eyes to remain open wide, but it felt as though she hadn't slept in weeks.

Noticing this, Garrett gave her a rough shake.

"Gwenevere, stay with me!"

He managed to jar her awake, but it wasn't long before her eyelids began to droop again. Gently, Garrett hoisted her up from the earth, lifting her from the legs and upper back to avoid putting any pressure on her injury. It was an awkward position for him, and one that made him grateful that the plant-based nymph was extremely light.

Realizing that he was trying to leave, Sandris intercepted for the last time.

"Thief, be reasonable! Keeper Mcclay is most proficient at treating all types of injury. He can heal her sooner and better than you could ever hope to!"  
"The only reason Mcclay would heal her, would be to get something from her. That's all Keepers care about."

His mind drifted back into the recesses of his younger years. With a disgusted snort, he faced Sandris again. Looking into the unmasked Enforcer's eyes was only fueling his hate.

"And the way they turn on their own-they're worse than starving dogs. Once your usefulness to them has expired, so do you."

Sandris was very still for a moment, allowing the thief to advance several feet from her without attacking or speaking. Something was wrong. This man's anger towards the Keepers, and his slurs about the Enforcers. Rest assured, she sensed a personal hurt there, as well as a very long story.

"Thief..." She began.

Garrett stopped, but he did not turn around. However, one very intimidating sentence passed his lips.

"Tell your incessant handler, that we're done here." He snarled under his breath.

Before Sandris could retort, Garrett played his ace. With vile speed, he spun around and threw his gas arrow squarely into the Enforcer's unguarded face.

Sandris, was instantly unconscious.

"You shouldn't have taken your mask off..." He muttered coldly, and proceeded to exit the cathedral grounds.


	38. Chapter 38

**HAMMERITE CATHEDRAL**  
**6:15 AM:**

Derick Garrison wore a hardened scowl as he walked down the vacated corridors of the only home he had ever known. Abandoned by his whore mother soon after birth, the Hammerite had been left on the steps of this grand citadel-his first faded memories being the way the stained glass shone like a beacon through the cutting winds and cruel snow.

Wide, terrified eyes could barely make out the crimson hammer emblazoned upon that celestial beacon, but it filled him with warmth at its presence, regardless of the bitter chill that threatened to tear the babe from his mortal existence. Then came the iron-clad men; their strong arms plucked the baby boy from his makeshift cradle, and carried him into a world of comforting warmth.

Of hope.

Derick, now donned in the same iron and ruby uniform of his saviors, couldn't help but feel incredibly guilty for the choice he had made. No doubt the High Priest would have him tortured or worse for returning to this place, but that was one of the last thoughts the Hammer had at that moment. His troubled mind was still burning like the flames which now engulfed the woods outside the city.

And no matter what he tried, that subconscious blaze could be neither detained, nor doused. It was as if these fires of remorse and question had stemmed from the lingering, tugging doubts Derick had been experiencing for the last few months.

He would never stop being a servant of the Builder. The god and his devotees had saved his life, and in doing so, his very soul. It was Father Volkorn and his maddened obsession with slaughtering anything that remotely reminded him of Pagans, that had driven Garrison from the order.

This also was the reason he had returned. To seek guidance in this most holy place, one last time before all forges went out within his heart.

He entered a small, quiet alcove. There were at least five of these areas on the premises. They were reserved strictly for prayer, and only one Hammerite was allowed access at any given time, limited however, to fifteen minutes a day.

Derick Garrison approached the door, and gingerly tied the provided red rope around its doorknob. A sign that the chamber in question was now occupied.

Alone in that intricate glass chamber, he took a heavy breath, and fell desperately to his knees. Without the aid of one of the holy tomes, the Hammerite began to utter his emotional prayer:

_Builder, forgive me_  
_For I am confused_  
_I live to serve you still_  
_But I cannot go against what I know is right._  
_Heretics though they may be,_  
_I cannot wear the blood of the innocent on my hands._  
_I have been questioning these acts for a long time now._  
_I am beginning to have genuine doubts about Father Volkorn and his leadership._  
_Tis true, the Pagans and Growers are blasphemers, but does this really need to be punished through torture and death?_  
_Didsn't not you teach us to convert the heretics, as thou carve away imperfections from a piece of wood? Perhaps, acceptance and guidance is what they need, not violence and misunderstanding?_  
_Builder, if I am wrong...if I am correct...either way, I beseech thee...give me a sign!_

Derick knelt there in silence for the remainder of his fifteen minutes, tears pricking at the strong man's wincing eyelids. The scenes of that horrific slaughter in the forest were now hopelessly burned into his mind. The screams-oh Builder! Those helpless, agonizing screams!

Hesitantly, he got to his feet with a grunt. Garrison cast his eyes out the stained glass window one last time, a silent hope glimmering in his tear-laced eyes. The Builder WOULD show him the way, of this he had no doubt.

But the sign in question, would forever change the way Derick Garrison saw everything.

******************************************************

Stepping out into the cool morning, Derrick's departure was halted in a most shocking way.

Directly outside the doorway, was an unconscious woman.

She wore dark, almost arcane looking clothing. A disturbing mask lay beside her, and a black hood was draped down past her head, covering her shoulders. Soft brown hair framed her resting expression, her lips parted slightly as she remained motionless.

She wasn't a Hammerite, that much was obvious to him.

So, what then?

Derick looked around anxiously. He knew what the others would think. What the others would do, upon finding an intruder on their holy ground. They would smash her head in before her next breath. The Hammerite frowned. No, he'd enough blood on his hands already. Besides, she was no Pagan nor Grower. Perhaps, she was a convert, of sorts?

Either reason seemed enough to stop him from spilling her blood.

Or more realistically, preventing his fellows from chancing across her and doing so.

Derick Garrison had left the order to pursue enlightenment-he no long had any quarrel with outsiders, or even Pagans for that matter. At least not in a dutiful sense.  
He still opposed their beliefs as well as their denial of the Builder, or their refusal to integrate.

But the way the High Priest had entered their homes and territories just to follow up on his own sick delusion-wasn't that what the Mechanist blasphemers had done?! Were not the Hammerites superior and righteous to Karras and his minions?!

Giving a swift nod, the rogue Hammer bent down and plucked the strange girl up from the cobblestone pathway. Then, he swung her up over his shoulder and exited the cathedral grounds.

Unwittingly leaving her Enforcer mask, behind...

*************************************************************

**THE CITY **  
**PRESANT DAY:**

Time became an enigma. While most feared the unseen criminals and creatures that lurked in darkness, the Master Thief feared only the exposure of the ever-seeking sunlight. Without the refuge of his shadows, Garrett was more vulnerable than he had ever anticipated with the broken nymph slumped over his shoulder.

Thankfully, Sophie was still there when he rounded the corner. To the thief's surprise, so was that lanky young man Gwenevere had freed along with her childhood friend.

Timothy Woksworth.

Sophie's heart palpitated harshly as she ran to assist the slipping girl from Garrett's heaving shoulders. He was out of breath from both constant running, and carrying Gwenevere in such an awkward position. Due to her broken ribs, the thief had tried to balance her upon both shoulders, whilst tightly clutching her shoulders and ankles. It hadn't been easy, or comfortable to say the least.

"Oh thank the gods, she's still alive!" Sophie half sighed, half hyperventilated her relief.

Garrett rubbed his sore muscles.

"Be careful. She's broken her ribs." He spoke sharply.  
"Oh no..." The boxman's sister gasped.

Instantly, she began examining the nymph's injuries. The skin beneath her Anvil vestments was badly bruised, in unnatural hues of blue and purple.

"Well, at least she's alive..." Sophie added, optimistically.

The thief, who was forever the pessimist, merely sneered in contempt.

"Yeah." He grunted, his left eye wincing from a night without sleep and almost constant pain. "But for how much longer?"

His unexpected words caused the older woman to gape down at him.

"What do you mean, for how much longer?" Sophie eyed him, deep maternal concern splayed across her face.

Garrett met her gaze with one of concentrated aggravation.

"That's between me-an her." Was all he answered her with.

Offended, Sophie backed off with a huff. She cast her eyes upward to meet the early morning sky. The last of the golden sunrise had dissipated into a pallet of cyan splendor. The guards would be making their morning patrols very soon.

"Fine. It's more important to get Gwenevere back to the safe house anyway."  
"Quite. When the young misses awakens, perhaps I can discuss her inheritance with her." Woksworth chirped.

Garrett gave the young man an inquisitive stare.

Did this noble's pet really think that he was invited?

The thief silently waited for Sophie to object to the attorney's assumption. However, when she did not, Garrett rushed her.

"Sophie! Hold on! Are you serious?! You're letting HIM into your apartment?"  
"Yes, Garrett." Sophie snapped, trying her best to tend to Gwenevere. "We all know that Gwenevere doesn't want to become the next ruler, but the money is still hers. It's her right to decide what becomes of it."  
"And Woksworth is gonna help with that, how?"  
"He's an attorney, Garrett! It's his job to-"  
"-I KNOW, what attorneys are for Sophie!" Garrett growled. "I've robbed my share of them, after all."  
"So, I take it you are Mr. Taffer then?" Woksworth suddenly piped up.

The thief scowled at him.

"Excuse me?"  
"Gwenevere's husband. She told me her last name was, er...Taffer." The young man explained.

Instantly, Garrett was both bemused and flabbergasted.

"What?!" He jolted upright, shaking his head in utmost disbelief.

He had known Gwenevere was gullible, and that as a nymph she often misidentified the human world that surrounded her. But had she really thought-did she honestly think...

"No, firstly, we're not married. Secondly, I don't know where she got that. The only last name she ever had was a lie. As for me, I don't have one. I'm what your kind refers to as, 'low-class ilk'." Garrett snorted to cover up his shock.

Woksworth gave him a friendly, yet noticeably nervous chuckle.

"C-certainly not me, specifically though. I think you'll find, my good man, that we have more in common than you realize. For I myself, am not of noble birth." He placed a hand to his heart, proudly.  
"No. You just brownnose em' for a price." Garrett retorted, and turned his attentions back on Sophie and Gwenevere.  
"If this whelp gives up the location of your safe house, to anyone, you'll never hear from us again Sophie." He threatened.

The older woman, still holding Gwenevere in her arms was silent. She watched the thief's displeasure mount with kind understanding.

"I won't be offended, Garrett. You've got to do what's best." Her expression grew solemn as her greying eyes found Gwenevere again. "But so do I."

Breaking her gaze from the hurt little nymph, Garrett hoisted Gwenevere back up around his shoulders. Sweat dripped down his brow as he started away up the ally.

"Whatever. Let's just go." He grunted.


	39. Chapter 39

An almost mocking grin contorted across Garrett's face as the flawless blue of morning caught his eye. This was the first clear day the city had seen in quite some time. Unfortunately, such a pleasant day couldn't have come at a worse time.

He directed his full attention back to the guest room, where Sophie was tending to Gwenevere's shattered ribcage. Or rather, trying to. The thief frowned and stood when he sensed her fumbling.

"Move. You're doing it wrong." Garrett growled, almost shoving his way in front of Sophie.

The middle-aged woman grew stiff with rage.

"I was trying to get her comfortable!"  
"Comfort doesn't matter if you're dead Sophie! I don't know why I even thought for a second that you could do this." He retorted with a disdainful hiss. "You're no doctor."

Sophie took umbrage at that.

"Well neither are you, Garrett!"  
"I've treated more broken bones, torn flesh, and stab wounds than I care to attest to. I'm no fool on the matter."

Deciding that petty arguments weren't going to help, Sophie threw up her arms in flustered fury, allowing the thief access to the unconscious nymph.

"Then, fine. By all means."

Watching Garrett sit, Sophie turned her attentions out the cracked doorway. Timothy Woksworth was still situated within one of the living room chairs, his suitcase planted against his bony legs. He was looking around at the pink wallpaper and portraits with mild interest, whilst twiddling his thumbs together upon the surface of said carrying case.

Sophie gave a concerned frown. Would he even be able to sort this mess out?

Could anyone?

"Damn...this is bad..."

Garrett's shocked whisper caused Sophie to spin around.

"What's wrong?" She demanded.

The thief met her fearful eyes with a look of dire uncertainty.

"Multiple breaks, some worse than others." He ran his hand up under his hood, wiping some sweat from his stressed brow. "I wasn't expecting this."  
"Well, what exactly WERE you expecting?!" Sophie grew unpleasant to mask her mounting terror. "She was struck by a Hammerite's weapon of choice at full force!"  
"Her bones have splintered, but not enough to cause any internal bleeding-I hope. Since she's plant based, perhaps there is a chance...at least I don't see any deeply brown spots or swelling at the impact sight, which means she probably isn't bleeding internally."

Garrett stood with a heavy sigh. This was all just too much.

"Garrett, why didn't you let Mcclay help?" Sophie confronted, now furious at him.

Her surrogate daughter had been offered help by someone who admittedly knew more than the both of them put together. Yet Garrett had arrogantly refused.

"He doesn't want to help, he wants to manipulate." He huffed with cold resentment.  
"How do you know?"  
"Tch, how wouldn't I know?" The thief quipped dryly.  
"You can't just decide things like that, when they're going to effect Gwenevere so much! This wasn't your choice!" Sophie countered.  
"I did what was right for her, as I always do." Garrett growled. "I know a weasel when I see one...they usually wear hoods and babble on and on about glyphs and 'cryptic prophecies'." The thief sarcastically stressed the last two words, rolling his eyes afterwards.  
"Garrett, I know the Keepers...did some horrible things to you..." Sophie began, helpfully.

That, was a big mistake.

Garrett locked his metallic glare into her hopeful expression. As the matriarch of the underworld watched him, the leaden storm within her eyes intensified. The thief's remaining optic dilated in bloodshot contempt.

Sophie and her damned, accusing eyes. Eyes which had never known unspeakable pain, nor witnessed the hells Garrett had lived through; only to retain deep scars darker than any shadow. Those eyes now locked upon him, as if they could see where he could not.

As if the thief were truly blind to the world around him.

"You don't know _anything_ Sophie. Not about that, not about me." He snapped. "So do me a favor and stop pretending you do!"

Sophie gaped as a trill of hurt ran down her spine.

"I used to love you! Obviously you've chosen to forget that."

Her words prompted the thief to stand. Garrett gave her a rather disturbed look.

She continued.

"I still care about you. I want you to be so happy Garrett." Tears began to slowly trickle from the middle-aged pauper's eyes. "So does Gwenevere, and Basso. Even Erin. But in the end, it's got to be your decision. If you are constantly pushing us away when we try to care about you, there is literally nothing we can do."  
"I never asked for anyone to care about me!" He snarled. "Not you, not Gwenevere. No one."

His tone masked a deeper emotion, and Sophie knew it.

"Garrett. You'd never ask. That's the problem."  
"Doesn't sound like a problem to me. Sounds like I don't need to rely on others to get things done. Sounds like I'm detached enough to avoid unnecessary conflicts. Unlike you." The thief retorted.  
"Ah. So this was unnecessary, hmmm?"

Sophie wiped her eyes and resumed her strong composure.

"Very."  
"Well then," she started to exit the room, "I'm sure you won't be surprised when Gwenevere decides the same thing. Most women won't be interesting in taking your crap forever-I certainly wasn't."

With that, Sophie pushed open the door and went to offer Mr.. Woksworth a cup of fresh tea.

Leaving the Master Thief highly unnerved by her latest words.

He looked back down at the resting nymph. Gwenevere's eyelids silently fluttered like a butterfly in the process of gathering sweet nectar.

This was a wild creature, and a polygamous one by nature. Nymphs did not take mates; they engaged in lascivious acts of sex, and were flighty by nature. And when it came to human relations, there were very few ways such could end positively. Love with a nymph could never last, a fact that over the last few months, Garrett had almost succeeded in overlooking.

Almost ceased to believe.

But the fact of the matter was simple, and extremely clear.

Gwenevere would be forced from his side one day.

And now, due to a bittersweet twist of fate, that day would be coming much sooner.

It was extremely mandatory for nymphs to raise their spawn unaccompanied. Especially children sired by humans. If Garrett remained, she would most likely viciously slaughter and devour him out of feral, maternal instinct.

Now that the seeds were part of this fragile entanglement, she would be alone soon; and she would remain that way for a very long time.

If not forever.

Whether Garrett would be able to convince her to return after the sprouts had matured, was another matter entirely.

One that the thief did not feel comfortable considering that day.

Instead, he sat back down beside her, and patiently awaited the revival of that glinted forest that was her eyes.

******************************************************

Feeling slowly returned to Gwenevere's body. Her vision faded in and out, and by the time it had cleared completely, she found herself staring at a beckoning gas lamp mounted to the ceiling.

She very slowly lifted her head off of the pillow, and saw Garrett sitting on a small stool beside her. The little nymph had yet to speak, her mind and memories still a chilly haze. Thankfully, she hadn't dreamed of her father again.

But between the fear and pain that gripped her upon returning to the waking world; she might as well have.

"How do you feel?" The thief asked.

Gwenevere turned her head to the left side of the bed and began to roll over on her side towards him. Immediately, the agony tore through her body, prompting her to fall back again. Her eyes began tearing up with pain.

Garrett swallowed hard, placing his hand gently on her knee. Gwenevere locked eyes with her thief, slowly reaching a hand up and touching his.

"Don't move. You're ribs are badly broken, Gwenevere."  
"Where are we?" She asked, her voice hoarse, not even above a whisper. "Did we make it out of the Hammer place?" Garrett nodded.  
"Yeah. But it wasn't worth it." He grumbled, the memory of how Basso had messed up crucial parts of the heist still burning and teasing the corners of his mind. "We're back at Sophie's now."

"Garrett. Where are the seeds?"  
"In the kitchen window." He reassured under his breath. "Sophie has been watering them everyday while I've tended to your injuries."  
"Have...have you told the others? What they are?" The thief tensed.  
"I told Basso, but I haven't told Sophie or anyone else yet." He muttered. "Of course, now that Basso knows, chances are the entire South Quarter will know by next week." Garrett added with an acerbic chuckle.

Gwenevere nodded.

"Oh."  
"Look, Gwenevere. What Basso suggested about changing your hair and eye color; it's not a bad idea. Since your enemies already know what your natural disguise looks like, this is probably your best bet if you want to remain undetected." He added briskly, trying to change the subject. "I'm not about to take any more risks with you going out in your true form."  
"I've never played around with those sorts of spells much. But my mother did teach me some shapeshifting abilities. I never mastered any of them." She offered. "I did a decent job on my hair and eyes that time, but I'm afraid that's the extent of my abilities."  
"Fine. You do that. As much as I disapprove, Sophie has that noble's lackey here. The least we can do is see what he knows about your new title. If not, I'm sure Basso knows something. Hopefully, this information might help us find the people who hired that hunter to kill you back in Nethalzia."  
"Why? Would Basso know who they were?"  
"There's a pretty good chance. After all, Hammerites tend to be very open about their 'good work'. Especially if it's against Pagans." Garrett rolled his eyes dryly.  
"The Hammerites?!"

Gwenevere's eyes grew wide with both fury and terror at the mention of her people's rival faction. The zealots who had fractured her ribs and disabled her best friend.

"I'd be happy to handle them after.."

Her contracted celadon irises budded with tiny flames of rage.

"I'll take care of it Gwenevere. You just focus on getting better."

The thief gave her a rare smile.

"So, you really told Woksworth your last name was taffer, huh?"  
"Yes."  
"Why?"  
"Well, because...that is..."Gwenevere's face suddenly got very red. She looked up at Garrett with wide green eyes. "Isn't that...your last name?"

Garrett watched her quivering, nervous emotions, listening to each stress on each syllable as it exited her mouth. Resting his fist up under his chin, the thief stared off into nothingness, and brooded silently for a few moments at the absurdity of it all.

This creature, had truly turned his life upside down.

The most current example, was that he now found himself having to explain not only the basis of names, but also the true meaning of the city's most notable slur.

He had assumed that she knew the meaning of taffer long before this. After all, Gwenevere had called him a taffer at least a few times during her apprenticeship, and the anxiety of being the apprentice to a man who seriously despised her.

_So why then?_

The thief exhaled an inaudible sigh of frustration. As with most things that were lengthy and difficult, Garrett thought it best to just cut to the chase and get it over with.

"I don't have a last name, Gwenevere; and I'm glad of it." He groaned, still focused on the back wall of the guest room, rather than her face. "Last names are for the entitled, or at the very least, the middle class."  
"But, I heard a guard call you that before. I mean, yes. It's certainly an unlucky last name, but it's kinda funny too. You don't have to be ashamed about it." Gwenevere crooned, trying to sound reassuring.

This new line of dialogue, finally prompted Garrett to glance at her, although his expression remained a twist of nonchalance, and annoyance.

"Gwenevere. You do know what that word means, right?" He gave her an uninterested look.  
"Yes, doesn't everybody?"

Garrett nearly scoffed at this.

Despite what she claimed, apparently SHE didn't.

"Gwenevere. The watchdog who called me that, he was using it as an insult. You know? The way it's SUPPOSED to be used?" He dryly chided.

Before Gwenevere could voice her obvious embarrassment, the thief continued.

"Yet, even still. It was an...interesting show of loyalty on your part Gwenevere. And for that, I thank you."

His voice had taken on that strange tone again; the one he rarely used. The one that wasn't quite angry or sad, but rather laced with a resentful serenity.

"I...I...you're welcome." She blushed.

The young woman observed her mentor closely as he resumed his dead stare out the bedroom window, a firm frown upon his face. Garrett was obviously troubled about something, most likely what had transpired back in the cathedral.

Her assumptions couldn't have been further from the truth.


	40. Chapter 40

Sandris awoke with a groan, her vision hazy and stilted, accompanied by a deep throbbing at the back of her head. She was puzzled. The Enforcer specifically remembered being in the Hammerite courtyard when last her eyes observed the waking world. She groaned again.

Why was she here?!

Eyes still focusing, the young woman began to observe her surroundings. She was sprawled atop a small bed, the sheets appearing quite clean and new. There was a heavy oak table just beside her aching head. It was empty, save for a melted down candle, it's wick struggling to maintain dying embers.

Sandris reached up and touched the back of her head. Nothing appeared damaged or bleeding, but there was a noticeable bump there. Most likely the result of her sudden fall. The Enforcer ground her teeth. That thief. Who was he, to do that to her? To spew those callous insults, then just leave her for dead?!

But perhaps what angered her most, was that he had succeeded in retrieving Gwenevere first. Mcclay would not be pleased.

Sandris gradually pulled herself up into a sit, bringing her knees up to her chest. She waited there, hunched over in darkness. The only light available, was the moonlight coming in from the window.

Speaking of Mcclay, this was NOT his hideout.

A twinge of ominous unknown sent a worried chill down her spine.

But after thinking it over, Sandris shook her head with a light smirk. It didn't matter, not really. She had failed her orders, and thus, there was only one thing that mattered now. Getting back to Mcclay, by any means necessary.

The Enforcer surveyed the darkened room again, seeking her mask for departure. She began to panic, upon noticing that it was not there. A stifled scream found the deep recesses of her throat, and stubborn tears threatened to disrupt her line of vision once more.

That mask, meant absolutely everything to her.

She gulped down her emotion, and stood. Her fists tightened as she came to the realization that whoever had brought her here, had probably taken it. Sandris didn't have time to look for it either. Mcclay, was expecting her return in a timely fashion.

It was too dangerous to seek out her beloved possession at current. It was either still back at the Hammerite Cathedral, else it was secured with the person who took her from that place. Whether their intentions had been good or corrupt, Sandris couldn't begin to care. She just wanted her mask back.

And she had absolutely no idea when, or if, she would ever get the chance to reclaim it.

The city seemed oddly serene that night, not a single inorganic sound found the Enforcer's ears as she trotted along the balmy streets. Sandris touched her cheek again as she turned the corner of Helen and South Road. Her face felt so...vulnerable, so average, without that mask.

It had been part of her Enforcer status-part of what made her special.

Now, there was little to separate her at face value from any of the other dark-clad lowlifes to wander these decaying streets.

But at least she still had her senses. Her training. Her magic.

Overhead, Sandris watched as a raven took fight. Its glossy wings making an elegant, almost silent flapping as it soared ever higher into the endless blackness of smoke and stars.

Unbeknownst to her, she wasn't alone. For there was someone observing this creature of the night as well...

********************************************************

Upon returning to the derelict mining passage, Sandris instantly sought out Keeper Mcclay. He was hunched over the body of Ayeena, Nellarose standing beside the bed. The Enforcer's blood instantly went cold when she noticed his expression.

Against the saffron torchlight, the elder's face was contorted in dread. Sandris felt her face pale. Never before, had she witnessed Mcclay so helpless or defeated. He was a man of ancient roots, and even deeper secrets. Control and cunning were two of his most notable traits.

But not now.

Now, he seemed to be even more concerned over the Pagan girl's condition than her own sister. If only for the fact, that he understood the severity of her condition, where the farm-raised teen did not.

Before words could fill the void between them, Mcclay spoke first.

"Ah, Sandris..."

He sounded, tired. Out of breath. Like an old man who had reached the end of his days, or a solider reciting his last words in a friends arms upon the battlefield. As he turned around to face the Enforcer, Sandris suddenly found herself agasp.

The look in his eyes...it was heart wrenching!

"So, Garrett managed to beat you to her, eh?" Mcclay continued, more or less trying to hide his own inner turmoil.

Sandris shuffled her feet against the gravely earth.

"Not exactly..." She murmured, a little embarrassed to have been subdued by a common thief.  
"Do not feel shame, child. The moonlight man has avoided even the best of us. And he shall continue to do so, until the end of his days."

The keeper was growing increasingly morbid.

"Keeper Mcclay?" Sandris inquired as he turned his gaze back on Ayeena.

The silence of the tunnel echoed within the recesses of her eardrums. Silence was all there was, until Mcclay's shoulders heaved slightly with an anguished sigh.

"Who is your friend, Sandris?"

The Enforcers eyebrows narrowed. She gave the elder a look that expressed her deep confusion.

"Excuse me?" Sandris received her answer in the form of a sudden scuffling.

She whirled around to see a muscular man clothed in red and silver desperately attempting to flee the tunnels. Once again, her eyes narrowed. This man. He was no friend of hers. He had tailed her here, completely uninvited.

With the firm belief that this might also be the man whom had taken her mask, Sandris sent a wave of blue magic at him. A binding glyph instantly intertwined around the man's ankles, sending him crashing against the dirt floor. Seconds later, both Nellarose and Keeper Mcclay managed to get a closer look at him.

He was a Hammerite.

This fact, was more than enough to prompt the teen into violent assault. Rushing past the Enforcer, she slammed her foot down hard into his chest. The Hammerite gave a pain-filled wheeze, then winced as Nellarose glowered down at him.

"Hammerhead..." She hissed. "Monster..."  
"No! Please, I just want to talk!" Derick Garrison swiftly defended, eyes wide with terror.  
"There is no need for that!" The Grower spat on him. "You killed my people, burned the forest!" Her eyes then welled up with uncontrollable hot tears.

"YOU CRIPPLED MY SISTER!"

"Please! I'm sorry for what happened, I really am!"

His words caused Mcclay to slightly raise his brow. The weathered old Keeper continued to listen, taking extra notice at the sincerity and boldness radiating from within the Hammerite's widened eyes.

"I never wanted a part of any of this madness! That's why I left the order!"  
"I don't care!" Nellarose snarled. "It's far to late for regrets now..."

In one swift motion, she retracted her dagger from it's leather sheathe. She raised it to just under Derick's throat. The fluttering motion of his hyperventilating Adam's apple reflected against the curved face of the blade. Toxic hatred blazed within Nellarose's eyes as she spoke her next sentence.

"You're all the same to me..."

Mcclay stepped forward, gently touching the teen's readied hand.

"Be at ease, young one. Let us see what comes of this."

Turning back to the downed Hammer, the ancient keeper released another bout of glyph magic. The soft, otherworldly glow that held Derick's legs splintered and fractured like fine glass, before diminishing into shadow with a steamy hiss. Bending over, Mcclay ushered him to his feet.

"Perhaps if I explain what has happened, you shall be more understanding of young Nellarose's fury."

With that, Mcclay motioned for Derick to join him by the bedside of the injured, unconscious Pagan woman.

It didn't take him very long to note that she was in critical condition. Derick nearly vomited when he observed that the bones in her legs were crunched and flattened. It was a brutal display, to say the least. A sickening one. But not nearly as disgusting as the next sentence Mcclay spoke.

"The girl before you was kidnapped by the Hammerite Order, during their pillage upon the wood. She was tortured relentlessly, before one of them slammed their weapon into her legs. Then, she was left in the quarries for dead." He recounted his story with an extremely solemn tone.

If Sandris had to guess why, she suspected it was to quell whatever the elder was retaining beneath his collected visage.

Derick gaped in disgusted horror, looking as if he was about to break down into tears. He had known that Father Volkorn's madness was becoming a serious issue. The High Priest saw Pagan influence everywhere; green eyes, wooden masks, vegetarians.

He even believed the kidnapped Simmon's girl to be the Trickster's own daughter. Even the most fiery of zealots within the order passed this fabrication off as little more than a fable.

The Antibuilder, The Demolisher of Order-she simply did not exist.

But this...

Father Volkorn had purged their home in a way that would make even the blasphemer Mechanists proud. For no reason, nor provocation.

And this beautiful young lady had paid the ultimate price for his insane hatred.

"They did this to her?!" The Hammer's voice was stifled by both disbelieving shock and boiling anger. He ground his teeth, and clenched his fists. "This is NOT what we are here for! This is...appalling..."  
"Indeed." The Keeper nodded numbly.

Mcclay then fell silent for several moments, taking in a deep lungful of air to gain some semblance of calm. Sandris watched him closely as he did so, and she could instantly tell that whatever his next words were going to be, they were extremely difficult for him to utter.

"Chances are...she will never walk again..."

All eyes in the tunnel fell on Mcclay at his dark revelation.

"W-what?!" Nellarose gasped, bringing her trembling hand up to her cheek.

Tears streamed from her eyes, as the thousands of memories she and her beloved sister had accumulated ran with them.

As if she were losing a piece of herself.

"Keeper Mcclay, are you sure?" Sandris inquired, desperately hoping that he wasn't.

But the saddened look he gave her caused that hope to recede. Sandris took a step backwards, watching through empty, lost eyes as Nellarose collapsed to her knees in bitter defeat. Keeper Mcclay clasped her shoulder with as much comfort as the hurting man could muster.

"I am so sorry, child..."

Mcclay wasn't the only one to exhibit deep regret. Derick steadied his posture and faced the others.

"I want to help her!"

His words caused Nellarose to bolt upright, hot tears still flowing from her eyes.

"You?! This is all YOUR fault!"  
"If it will ease your suffering, go ahead and hate me. Because I'm determined to help her," he faced Mcclay with a hopeful, honest look in his eyes, "if you will allow it, Keeper."  
"Of course not! Your order is the one responsible for all this, and so much more!" Nellarose hollered, her voice cracking and growing hoarse with unyielding torment.  
"I serve the Builder, not the maddened priest who has claimed the same. Before I left the order, I asked Him to grant me some semblance of a sign. Some manifestation of the Builder's approval in my odyssey. I believe that this, the latest display of Father Volkorn's visceral hatred of your people, is exactly that."  
"What are you trying to say, Hammerhead?" Nellarose demanded, both Sandris and Mcclay still watching and listening to see how this would play out.  
"I am saying, that I want to try and make this right! Our people, our religions-they may never see eye to eye..." Derick faced her with utmost truth, "but that doesn't mean that peace can never be achieved. This war between our factions has gone on far too long. I believe the Builder would want peace. Surely even your Trickster would deign to reveal in strife forever. After all, did he not seek to restore this world to its natural form?"  
"Interesting thing to ask about a god of primordial chaos..." Sandris murmured, arms crossed.  
"Yet, even still, he makes a strong argument." Mcclay finally spoke. "Hammerite. If you truly intend to help us, to help her...then you may stay."  
"What?!" Nellarose started again, completely blindsided by this decision. "But he's a-"  
"-He has also left his shepherd in pursuit of greener pastures, child."

Mcclay looked up at Derick again, his weathered eyes colliding with those of noble promise.

"That, means something, coming from such a conservative lot. He is not blindly obedient to those who claim holiness. I say we grant him a chance to cleanse himself of the actions of his faction, as well as pursue the peace he seeks."  
"Thank you, Keeper." The bulky Hammerite bowed with utmost respect.  
"However, know this: In the event that you try and harm this Pagan or anyone else under my care, I WILL kill you."

There was an almost forgotten power illuminating Mcclay's eyes as he spoke. It didn't cause Garrison to recoil, but it certainly conveyed the elder's severe power and relentless protection for those he sheltered.

"I shall do my best to prove the purity of my intentions." Derick nodded briskly.  
"Let us hope you succeed..." Mcclay retorted in a dusty whisper.


	41. Chapter 41

With a reluctant groan, Garrett exited the guest room, leaving Gwenevere to claim a much-needed nap. He found Sophie half asleep in the armchair, and Woksworth nowhere in sight. Giving the older woman little more than a scowl, the thief ventured across the carpet and into the kitchen for a drink.

"Garrett?"

He froze upon hearing Sophie's distanced voice. Rather stiffly, he turned to face her. Sophie watched him, unsure what he was thinking or feeling in that moment. The fading twilight danced upon her greying brunette locks and shaded the remorse upon her gentle face.

"I'm...I'm sorry. For what I said back there." She whispered.

Garrett's stiffened lips did not part, nor did his facial features shift in any way that would display the surprise such an apology had warranted. Sophie had always been firm in both her beliefs and intentions. She was not the sort to ask forgiveness, nor go back on her words.

This, was unexpected indeed.

"I've just been dealing with a lot lately. This entire thing...Gwenevere following in your footsteps...it's always bothered me greatly. She's not thief material Garrett. I honestly don't know why she ever wanted to try and become one in the first place, but none of that even matters anymore."

Garrett couldn't help but stare at the intense trepidation gleaming within her livid irises.

"What bothers me, is that she keeps getting hurt. Hell, she's DIED because of it Garrett!"  
"I know!" The thief snapped, desperately wishing he'd never left the sanctity of that bedroom. "I thought you were trying to _apologize_ Sophie!"  
"I was, and I did." She remarked with a growl. "But you need to know why I said those things in the first place."  
"I honestly don't care, so long as you never say them again. I didn't come out just so I could fight with you." Garrett griped, looking around the room. "Where'd that attorney go anyway?"  
"He said he needed to contact Mcclay about the will. Apparently, it's in his hands as far as the inheritance and status go; him being Gwenevere's assigned caretaker and all. If we're going to sort through this mess, we're going to have to cooperate with him. Yourself included."

The thief's eyes flew open, and he took a step backwards. All exhaustion had left him at Sophie's latest set of demands.

"Like hell I will! Hasn't it occurred to you that Gwenevere wants nothing to do with this inheritance crap?"

Sophie gave him an extremely tenacious look, letting him know that the matter wasn't open for discussion.

"The fact that you continue to overlook Garrett, is how young and naïve she actually is." Sophie countered.  
"Believe me, I've noticed." The thief crossed his arms, giving her a hard scowl. "What's your point?"  
"My point is, she doesn't know what she wants out of life just yet! It would be foolish and reckless to just give all of that opportunity over to Mcclay, only for her to decide ten years down the road that being a thief isn't working out for her."  
"Working out?" Garrett crooked an eyebrow. "That some kind of analogy, Sophie?"  
"No. I said I didn't mean those things." The middle-aged woman defended in a sincere voice. "But we've lost Gwenevere once before-there's no point in putting her into anymore danger."

Garrett glared at her, bristling at her hypocrisy.

"Oh, and I suppose inviting strangers into your 'safehouse', and consorting with Keepers is your idea of safety?! At least when she's under MY instruction, she's got some semblance of protection!"  
"But for how long?" Sophie countered. "You couldn't keep those Hammers off her in the tunnel. You didn't stop Heleana from shooting her, or Simmons from kidnapping her. Try as you might, you cannot always be there to safeguard her from harm. That's why she needs to grow and find her own maturity Garrett!"

The thief bristled at this, but abruptly fell silent as the darkness of those memories overtook his mind. Regardless of the fact that he would never admit it, this was the truth.

He couldn't protect her.

Sophie signed hard before continuing.

"No matter how hard you try to dissuade yourself Garrett, the fact of the matter remains the same. Gwenevere is an innocent young girl; and innocent young girls do not make good thieves."  
"I, am her mentor," the thief snarled, "and I, will be the judge of what she is, or is not capable of. As will she. This is her life Sophie, not yours."  
"I know. Speaking of which, we need to get her some medicine for those wounds." Sophie changed the subject, deciding that is was futile and counterproductive to get into yet another argument with the thief. "Basso has a few contacts in that area, perhaps if I go down to the Crippled Burrick and ask..."  
"Forget it. Manmade medicines won't help her. She's a nymph, only the forest can heal her. Or plants. Something like that." Garrett hesitated, remembering what Gwenevere had told him about his moss arrows. However, in her current state, he doubted the small projectiles would help much.  
"I see..." Sophie appeared to be thinking. "What if...we brought the forest to her?"

Garrett looked her over with mild bemusement.

"Huh?" He muttered in a slightly condescending tone. Sophie blinked.  
"I mean, why not buy some flowers from the market to decorate her room with? Wouldn't that help at least a little?"

Garrett thought about it, his face planted into a firm frown. Then something else he hadn't considered crossed his flustered thoughts.

The ring she always wore.

The one he had gifted her with on her birthday.

The one that had a shard of Woodsie Emerald within it.

The thief cracked his knuckles. It was such a tiny piece, would it even work? The relic had been shattered after all, and there was no way of telling whether the magic resided within the entire object, or the material itself. However, in her current broken state, Gwenevere didn't have anything to lose. It was certainly worth a try.

"Yeah. Sounds like a plan." Sophie stood from her chair with a slight smile, looking more hopeful than she had for the past three days.  
"Great! I'll just be on my way then!" She fetched her cloak from the nearby coat rack. "I'll stop by the Crippled Burrick on the way home. Maybe Basso can help in some other way; it wouldn't kill the taffer to at least pay the poor girl a visit after all!"

The thief rolled his eyes. He still wasn't in any mood to speak to Basso; not after how the heist had been botched up by the boxman and his latest show of incompetence.

As soon as Sophie exited and locked the door behind her, Garrett released his tension, allowing a long sigh to leave his body. Instinctively, his eyes wandered towards the kitchen. He wasn't the only one who could use some water.

**********************************************

When Gwenevere awakened, it was nightfall. The entirety of the bedroom was silhouetted in a blanket of darkness, save for a few stray beams of moonlight that cast ominous shadows upon the dresser. The nymph remembered her injuries this time, and she did not attempt to sit up.

She looked around the room for Garrett, and saw the thief sitting in the corner. His eyes were implanted in a leather bound novel, and he hadn't noticed her yet. In the silence of night, Gwenevere could hear his mechanized eye zoom in and out as he read in absolute darkness. She was about to speak up when she heard him turn the page, but a vibrating motion stopped her.

Gwenevere looked down to the amulet around her neck, the Memory Keeper. It was pulsing with a mystical blue glow.

The rhythmic flutter rallied the thief from his tome, and instantly, his eyes focused on Gwenevere.

She was looking at the relic now, a surprised, almost excited expression donning her face. The glyphs that ran along the sides of the object, were glowing in a different pattern than before. Her mother had been in possession of the relic years ago, and as such, she had taught Gwenevere how to translate the various glyphs. But how her feral parent had known of, let along gained such a strong understanding of glyphs, was a quandary Gwenevere had never deciphered.

She focused her eyes carefully upon the Memory Keeper, and could make out one single line of text:

_(Gwenevere, it is I, Keeper Mcclay. Are you alright?)_

Gwenevere raised an eyebrow in utter confusion. He was talking to her through the relic? She didn't understand how this was possible, but nevertheless, the little nymph gave a playful nod, and rotated the cylinder around the necessary glyphs to form her sentence.

_(Yes. I was badly injured after saving my friend from the Hammerites.)_

There was a short pause, before another message illuminated the object.

_(Injured?)_

Gwenevere elaborated.

_(Yes. I broke my ribs.)_

Another moment of silence followed, this one longer than the first.

_(I see...)_

Gwenevere's fingers twiddled hastily around the cylinder as she struggled to convey her remorse to the Keeper on the other end. She still wanted to help him, and she worried that his latest reply held disappointment for her inactivity within his cause.

_(Keyper Mcclay...I'm so sorry that I haven't been back to help you! Please forgive me!)_

She began to perspire, as she waited in complete darkness for a much-needed response.

_(Calm yourself, child. It is not your fault. Just concern yourself with recovery for now. We can use the Memory Keeper to communicate until further notice.)_

This reply caused Gwenevere to smile. She was relived that Mcclay still wanted her help. That he would still want to help her find the answers to her past in return.

_(Alright...)_

"Gwenevere, what are you doing?" Garrett finally stepped in, unease and harsh defense radiating within his stern tone.

He had watched her for long enough to tell that she was up to something, and the sight of glyphs being sent back and forth to who he could only assume was Keeper Mcclay, did little to remedy that.

Gwenevere yipped in surprise, clutching the Memory Keeper against her chest as he approached her bedside. Garrett gave her a firm look.

"What are you doing?"  
"I was...communicating with Keyper Mcclay..." She winced, sensing his anger. "I-I know you said to stay away from him, but he just wanted to know if I was okay..."  
"I don't care, Gwenevere." The thief fought the strong urge to tear the relic out of her hands. "When I tell you not to talk to someone, I mean it! Why can't you just listen to me for once?!"  
"I have the right to talk to him! We have a deal!" Garrett recoiled violently at this.

A deal? He did not like the sound of that at all.

"Gwenevere...I know you want to find out what happened to you. Who you were before all of this."

He managed to gain some semblance of control just thinking about how difficult and horrid the little nymph's life had been prior to venturing into the city slums.

"Yes! And Keyper Mcclay says he can help me rediscover that side of myself! That's why I am gonna help him translate and find ancient tomes."  
"Translate?" Garrett crooked an eyebrow at her.  
"Uh-huh! Ancient Nymph to human! Mcclay said he desperately needs me to do that for him."  
"Gwenevere," the thief gripped the sides of the Anvil outfit she was still dressed in, "listen. Keepers...they're a strange breed. An untrustworthy one. Think the cunningness of a fox intermingled with the neediness of a lapdog."

He pulled the garment up over her head.

"A lapfox?" Gwenevere giggled a little at the thought. Garrett smirked.  
"Yeeeahh..." He looked over her nude form, his eyes trailing down to her bandages. "It's time for me to redress your injuries."  
"Okay."

The thief grunted as he squatted down to retrieve the roll of bandages and a bowl of warm water from beside the bed. Then he sat back in the chair and went to work on gently removing the old dressings.

"The point is, he wants a handout, and he'll use any tactic he can think of to get it."

The bruising around her ribs had lessened, but was still a muddled pallet of greens and browns. Garrett smoothed the warm water and salve mixture over the large mess, and then began to re-wrap the damaged flesh.

"But Garrett?"  
"Hmmm?" He muttered, concentrating on his work.  
"What if...what if Mcclay is different? What if he really wants to help me?"

The thief shot her a bothered glance.

"Gwenevere. He knew Simmons. Isn't that enough reason for you to distrust him?"  
"Lots of people knew Simmons, including you. That doesn't mean they wish me harm." Gwenevere countered.  
"He agreed to take care of you in the event Simmons passed away. Doesn't that strike you as just the least bit suspicious?"

The thief wiped the excess water and salve from his hands with a towel.

"Maybe he was being cunning?" Gwenevere smirked.

Garrett had to admire her quickness. But there was no way he would allow her to speak with that meddlesome Keeper again. Regardless of why he had agreed to foster Gwenevere, or where his true allegiance laid.

"Maybe. But it's not worth risking. Being too quick to call someone 'friend' is often the fastest way to an early grave."

He extended his hand and cupped his large palm around her supple cheek, her cinnabar locks falling between his fingers. Gwenevere stared up at him with her large green eyes, taken aback by his sudden display of affection. Garrett smiled warmly at her.

"In the end, _you_ are the only one who I will ever truly trust."

With that, he leaned forward and kissed her forehead.


	42. Chapter 42

Father Volkorn shuddered as he observed the mess of nature magic and shattered cathedral before him. His shoulders heaved, as he bent down and picked up one of the very last remaining gold bars. Precious, blessed metal that should have been melted into a glorious monument to the Builder, come dawn.

His new second, in place of Derrick Garrison, stepped forth. With an air of hostility, he did his best to reassure the High Priest.

"Father Volkorn. I assure you that she WILL be found."

Volkorn glared at him, eyes bloodshot and crazed, as if the elder hadn't slept in quite some time.

"Do you all see it now? Do you all finally understand what must be done? This is what happens, when you allow Pagans to go about their own devices. For too many centuries, we have sat placidly by and listened to their dark chants and howling from within the woods, only taking action against them whilst encountered face to face. But no more! That abomination has invaded our holy temple, taken the Builder's gold, and soiled our very air with her presence! This is why we need to dispose of every last one of their foul kind!"

He ended his rant with a noise that resembled concentrated anger and tears.  
Then he laughed, and these two sounds melded into a twisted duet of pure insanity.  
Father Volkorn's second, intercepted this disturbed cacophony, by producing a single dark object.

Sandris's Enforcer Mask.

"Min brothers also found this outside in thine courtyard, father."

The High Priest cradled the object warily between his boney hands. The two dark eye sockets seemed to stare back into his widened eyes, as a strange, unwritten power engulfed him with dread. Father Volkorn resisted the strong urge to drop the object, even as he clearly heard an ancient voice threaten.

"That's not for you..."

Instead, the High Priest smiled. He had no desire to wear the mask. His interest lied instead, with the one who owed it. Or rather, the one who commanded them.

It brought him no joy, nor satisfaction to discover that the Keepers and their Enforcers were involved in all this. Especially since he had once been very good friends with a Keeper.

But that was a long, long time ago.

"What are thy orders, father?" The second in command inquired.

Volkorn set the mask down upon a nearby table, and shot his second an adamant look.

"Find the one whom this mask belongs to. When you discover that much, our true foe will make themselves known. And when they do, take them both."  
"Yes father. I shall begin the investigation."  
"Investigation?" Volkorn snorted. "Nay. Just take the mask with you on your search. The bearer will sense it. Tis' as much a part of them, as their still-beating heart."  
"Father?" The second looked very confused. "Sense it? What witchery is this?!"

The High Priest was very silent for several moments, his eyes fixated upon his loyal second.

"Not witchcraft. Glyph Magic. Be wary, my brother. There are Keepers at work."

**THE GROWER COMPOUND:**

Dawson rubbed Chance behind the bloodhound's leathery ears. The canine whined softly, as if trying to offer up his sympathies to the ransacked compound. The Grower leader sighed. Their order was so new, so weak. Though it poisoned his thoughts to consider, Dawson was beginning to worry that the Grower faith would be the shortest lived religion that The City had ever seen.

"Dawson!" An older woman cried out, racing up the path to what remained of the leader's home. She wore a look of utter exhaustion, both mental and physical, within her leaden eyes.

He nodded, granting her permission to address him.

Nearly out of breath from running, the elder clasped her chest and calmed herself.

"Has Nellarose returned yet?" The way Dawson lowered his gaze to his feet gave her the rather grim answer.  
"Oh no..." She gasped, tears intermingling with her hushed voice.

Dawson stood with a start, startling his loyal hound. The young farmer began pacing, anger seething from beneath his tattered rancher hat.

"I knew this was a pointless pursuit! The Last Mother...heck! She ain't even called that nomore!" He rolled his eyes, "Gwen-evere...don't want to help us. She only cares for that city. That thief."

As quickly as he had brought himself to stand, Dawson plopped down again next to Chance. The dog gave an exasperated huff.

As the Grower leader buried his face into his dirt-covered palms, the silver-haired woman went to touch his shoulder.

"The others believed she would. And perhaps, there is still hope..."  
"The others?" Dawson fought to hide his muffled, sobbing fury, "They looked to ME, to contact her. To make things right." He snorted up his tears with a bitter groan. "An' why in the hell would they trust me?! After all I've done..."  
"Dawson." The old woman comforted, knowing full well what the emotional man was going through.

What nightmares still haunted his every waking moment. She knew better than anyone.

For she, was his mother.

"You know what happened. What I did to Aniah." He looked up at her through lost and questioning eyes, "Why do you still regard me as your son?"

Sarah Landon, didn't hesitate for a second.

Tears in her eyes, she embraced her oldest child.

"Dawson. You will always be my son. No matter what you have done, or what mistakes you have made." She squeezed harder. "The fact that you are aware of your shortcomings, the fact that you are trying to better yourself, speaks well of your true character. You are a good man, my son. Your father would be proud of you, had he survived."

The Grower leader slowly pulled away from her in a stiff fashion.

"I'm not so sure of that." He huffed, staring at nothing. "I couldn't even convince Gwenevere to stay with us. I abandoned her, and left so many of my followers to die on that terrible night. There's no way father would've approved of that, let alone found pride in my actions."

Before the old woman could offer further consolement, Chance whined again, and his long ears pricked slightly. The hound raised his head with casual intrigue.

A man covered in stylized tattoos and a tan loincloth was running up the beaten path. After the reveal that Gwenevere was their shared goddess, a bridge had been formed between the Growers and the Pagans. The two factions remained separate by only custom and home now. The way of The Vine had also begun to shape the lives and minds of the earthen farmers. Since Gwenevere had revoked her god status to walk amongst mortal men, her father had taken the place of deity in most of their minds.

Essentially, through the little nymph's choice, the hooved god's followers had multiplied. The old ways of the Grower cult, were quickly becoming a way of life, more than a religion. Tilling fields, raising free range livestock, and experiencing with alchemy and magic were all still staple portions of the average Grower's life. However, not all had been so quick to worship the Trickster. Some had chosen to offer up their allegiance to Gwenevere's mother, whilst others still valiantly awaited the return of the Last Mother herself.

However, despite this conflicted multitude of various beliefs and lifestyles, the Growers and Pagans had achieved peace amongst one another.

For the most part.

A few stray Pagans had rebelled, turning to cannibalism in order to devour the flesh of the heretics; ergo, any Growers that wandered too far from their farm holds after dark.

Dawson knew this Pagan by name, but more specifically, by memory.

This was Hummus. The young Pagan man who had confronted that accursed thief during the rather tense meeting last winter. The Grower leader couldn't help but grin sadly. If he had of struck down Garrett, was there even a chance? Could the free-spirited nymph girl been his instead?

Even after all that had transpired, Dawson still thought about her often. He still caught sight of her rose colored hair, a flash of lightning from her green and gold irises. That high-pitched voice of hers still resonated within his mind like a fairy's laughter.

He fought to concentrate as Hummus approached. No, she was gone now. And despite what some of his followers still belived, Dawson knew that she was never returning.

"Dawson! I bes bringers you goodsie news!" The young pagan panted, his eyes a wild luster of vibrant colors.  
"Good news? About what?"  
"Ayeena and Nellarose! They bes safe now." His words caused Dawson to stand upright, startling Chance for a second time.  
"They're alive?!" His voice cracked with deep, gracious emotion, and tears filled the corners of Sarah's eyes as the old woman brought a trembling hand to her lips. "Where are they?"

Hummus's grin contorted disturbingly wide across his tattooed face, and his livid eyes seemed to sparkle with an unspoken mystery.

"They bes back with thems Conscripted One..."


	43. Chapter 43

Warm rain pelted down against Garrett's hood as the thief sprinted across the rooftops. This was hot work already, without the humid summer rain's involvement. To make matters worse, Garrett knew he couldn't rush this. One slip against the drenched rooftops, and the Master Thief would meet a rather gruesome end.

There was a letter clenched beneath his sweltering fingers; the same letter that Basso had given him. The thief was on his way to the Siren's Rest now, to find out who this mysterious Mr. Blank was, and furthermore, what he wanted.

The letter had clearly demanded for the thief to bring Gwenevere along. But with the nymph currently bedridden, Garrett didn't have much of a choice. Besides, he wasn't even sure if he wanted to take the offered job, and it seemed both a bother and liability to bring the talkative nymph along to meet potentially dangerous people.

Garrett on the other hand, had faced foes that would cause even the greatest crime lords to scream. He wasn't intimidated by anyone anymore. Least of all, some coward who signed their name with an X.

Due to Gwenevere's accident, he was also replying to the letter a week late. But if there was good money in this "Mr. Blank", Garrett knew he couldn't pass up the opportunity. After all, what difference was there in a few days?

With all the requirements and precautions written within the precarious note, Garrett was beginning to suspect that this person was extremely cautious. As such, the thief had brought a few extra precautions of his own along for the encounter. If this Mr. Blank was planning on getting violent, he'd regret it.

Garrett watched as a member of the watch scanned the street below him. Once he'd resumed his patrol, the thief silently clambered down from his wooden perch.

The tavern down by the docks was perhaps the grimmest in the entire city. Garrett didn't come here often-it reeked of bile and fish. When he did, it was usually to procure work, such as tonight. The thief released a tense sigh, readying himself for whatever would transpire within.

"Well I'm here now. Better make the best of it."

*******************************************

Trepidation hit Garrett in the face the moment he entered that darkened back room. A constricting pressure found his chest. It wasn't fear, but rather a choking sensation. The dizzy, hazy pressure, hollow fire, and consuming waves of constricting fingers. The sensation evoked a strange feeling indeed. One that Garrett wasn't all too familiar with.

Desperation.

For at that moment, the Master Thief felt as though he were truly drowning.

He couldn't help but grow disheartened by his own sensations.

_Why the hell do I feel this way?_ He squinted his eyes, as if searching for an answer that just wouldn't come.

However, his conflicted gaze did register on some movement. Garrett groped at a flash bomb concealed just beneath his cloak, never breaking his gaze from the situated figure in the corner of the small room. Slowly, the helpless feeling began to fade into nothingness.

"So. You're the greatest thief who ever lived, eh?" A soothing voice called from the shadows. Garrett tightened his fingers around the hidden orb.  
"So I've been told, yes." He quipped.

There was a deafening silence, leaving the thief to regret his latest quip. At least until the figure in the darkness stood, and walked into the low light. Garrett felt as his frown quirked upright to form a somewhat intrigued grin.

Mr. Blank, was a woman.

Her eyes were even bluer than Erin's. Garrett wasn't even sure that was possible; but then again, he wasn't exactly an expert on pigmentation. The woman was as tall as he was, perhaps even taller by a quarter of an inch, and she had extremely pale skin. Her hair was pulled back beneath a cerulean kerchief, crumped together into a neat, shiny bun of honey blonde.

The woman looked up at Garrett, sensing his analysis of her.

"Beautiful, aren't I?" She purred, waggling her hips playfully. The thief instantly recoiled.  
"Excuse me?" His brows furrowed. The woman just giggled, as if the two were old friends enjoying an inside joke.  
"Why, thank you!" She winked, and began circling the thief. Garrett gripped the flash bomb again.  
"I...didn't do anything." His eyes narrowed, betraying his utter confusion.  
"It's not what you've done, dear thief-but what you didn't do. I've always preferred complicated to obvious, when it comes to men." She concluded her examination, and went to turn on a small table lamp.  
"What the hell are you talking about?" Garrett demanded, more or less annoyed with her by this point.  
"I'm saying, I like a man who pretends he doesn't like me, but then he can't stop staring. He keeps his feelings a big old secret, for fear that they might make him weak. Not quite the gentleman, but then again, those tend to be quite dull." She commented in a condescending tone. She then looked Garrett up and down with an extremely seductive smile. "Name's Asteriah, by the way."  
"Well, for all your ramblings, you're right about one thing. I don't like you. Now, if you're finished being weird, can you tell me why you sent that letter for me?" The thief sneered, holding out the envelope for her.

Asteriah's smile expanded.

"Where's the girl?" She asked playfully, eyes twinkling with mischief.  
"Not here."

The strange woman cracked her knuckles.

"Well, I did want you both to come," she leered up at Garrett again, "but now I'm starting to think that this is better."  
"Why do you say that?" The thief growled. Asteriah giggled again at his obliviousness.  
"We'll get there. In the meantime, I'll assume you're still interested in the job?"  
"That's why I'm here."  
"Excellent. Please, have a seat, Master Thief."

Garrett reluctantly released his hand from the flash bomb and sat down on the bed next to her. Asteriah grinned up at him through hungry, almost aggressive eyes.

"Have you ever heard of the Hand Brotherhood?" She asked. Garrett nodded. "Well then, have you heard of Mystic Manor?"  
"No. What's this have to do with a bunch of elemental mages?"  
"Everything." Asteraih snapped. "The tower was where they practiced their arts. However, the manor, is where the strongest veteran mages actually reside. There's a wealth of magical knowledge locked up in there, even some rare artifacts."  
"And you want me to break in there and make off with them for you." Garrett concluded.

Asteriah cackled at his response.

"I know arrogance and pride are part of your deal Garrett, but trust me when I say, it won't be that easy. Not this time."  
"Elaborate." The thief demanded.  
"Only a mage can enter Mystic Manor. There's some sort of, detection system. Magical wards that prevent entry to all but wielders of mana and strange powers. Only a mage can trick the system, granting access to non-magic users."

Garrett scooted away from her and crossed his arms.

"Sounds like you want Gwenevere for this job, not me." He leered into Asteriah's devious expression. "So why send for me at all?"  
"Because, I know things about her. About you." She scooted closer to the thief, completely ignoring his need for space. "And don't take this the wrong way, but probably way more than either of you want me to."

She reached out for him, prompting Garrett to jut upright from the bed. He sneered, giving the woman a cold look of disgust.

"You've been _spying_ on us then?!"  
"Not exactly. I just like to know the people I've interest in working with. In paying." She pursed her supple purple lips. "Surely, a master such as yourself understands the importance of this, yes? After all, isn't that why you came here? To see what I wanted? To learn more about me?"

Garrett was stationary for several moments, glowering down at her with conflicted distain.

"Okay Asteriah. You obviously need Gwenevere. But here's the thing-Gwenevere's MY apprentice. She hasn't learned to steal correctly yet. So your plan's only half formed."  
"Which is why I need the both of you. She deactivates the alarms and traps, and you steal what I want you to." She chirped.  
"Which is?"

Asteriah's eyes flashed.

"A container of raw elements."  
"Raw elements? Tch, okay..." Garrett rolled his eyes.  
"I have my reasons for wanting them. Plus, I'll pay very handsomely."  
"How much?"  
"Hmmm, how about I let you name the price?" She coaxed. Garrett grinned at this.  
"You sure you have that much coin?"  
"Alright. Good point." She chuckled. "I'll pay you both 250 silver. Sound good?" Garrett scoffed.  
"Hardly. I can make that in my sleep."

Asteriah's face contorted into a snarl, but only for a moment. Anger gave way to disappointment.

"Fine. 300 each, and I'll throw in a map." She offered. Garrett grimaced bitterly.  
"I suppose that will have to do. Anyways, you said the place has rare artifacts? Those'll cover what you're too cheap to pay for."

Asteriah's smirk widened into a warm, slightly bemused smile. Her eyes glimmered like blue steel within the shadowy blackness of the tavern room.

"Here." Before the thief had a chance to notice her lithe hands, the woman produced two sacks of coins and lightly pressed them into his. "The map in question is on that table over there." She dismissed herself to go and retrieve it whilst Garrett counted through the currency.

Moments later, Asteriah returned to his side, a medium sheet of papayas tucked beneath her frail arm. She removed the map and passed it to Garrett. He undid the parchment instantly.

"Anything else I should know about this place?" He murmured, eyes scanning each room of the depicted Mystic Manor.  
"I'm...not really in a place to give any details. After all, I've never been there myself." She weakly joked. Garrett scowled at this, prompting her to counter with her next sentence. "But Gwenevere, on the other hand, has."  
"What?" He asked, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion.  
"Oh, silly me. Did she not tell you then?"  
"Tell me what?" Garrett demanded.

Against his better judgment, he always found himself eager to learn anything new about Gwenevere's past. Even though it never ceased to send a disturbing chill racing down his spine. This thirst for the truth was for her benefit, not his.

With a pensive, teasing glimmer in her eyes, Asteriah slowly formed her next words.

"Ask her when you get there."


	44. Chapter 44

Erin sat in Sophie's armchair, working the needle up and down through her torn garment. Woksworth had gone off to market, but both the boxman's sister and Gwenevere were still with her. Sophie reclined back into the cushy folds of the couch, whilst Gwenevere laid there with her head upon Sophie's lap. The older woman smiled as she continued to brush the ruby bangs away from her surrogate child's face.

Gwenevere had been making a faster recovery, since that potted cornflower had been added to her room. And the plant, in turn, seemed to be growing healthier as well. It was as if they were each benefiting from one another's mere presence.

And perhaps, they were at that.

"What'cha working on Erin?" Gwenevere cooed softly, more or less afraid of what the young woman's response would be.

Erin had never cared much for her, and she knew that. But the jovial nymph couldn't help but try and make a new friend.

Erin looked up from her work with an air of uncertainty. She stared pensively at Gwenevere, as if she were a foreign object of some kind. As if she had never laid eyes upon her before.

The dark-haired assassin drew a small saddened smile to her lips. Yes. Allowing her to live, had been the best decision. Even if her new position was utterly killing her, inside and out. There was just so much luster, so much life in this girl. She was kind, fun-loving, and most importantly; she made Garrett happy.

And in the end, that was all that mattered to Erin.

"I tore my shirt a few nights back." Erin mumbled, working the needle through the tight leather. Gwenevere continued to watch her work, wincing as the blue-eyed girl accidently pricked her finger. "Damn it! There has to be an easier, less painful way of fixing clothes!"  
"Well perhaps if you wore the thimbles and took your time." Sophie reprimanded in a motherly tone.

Erin growled under her breath whilst sucking the blood from her worn fingertip.

"Here." Gwenevere sat up from Sophie's lap and groaned as she stood. "Let me."  
"Gwenevere, sit back down dear!" The older woman cautioned.

But the nymph was already kneeling beside Erin, despite the dull throbbing pain her wounds brought.

She gently plucked the needle from Erin's lap, and proceeded to start up the stitching again. Erin watched her with silent gratitude.

"How'd you learn to sew like that?" She finally asked.  
"Oh." Gwenevere halted her work, her voice soft and subordinate.

Instantly, both Erin and Sophie recoiled. That's when a dark feeling gored its way through Erin's unwitting heart. Garrett had told her all about the little nymph's past. Of her life with Simmons. How she had been taught simple home economics such as sewing and cooking in place of more rewarding or important life skills. Hence part of why Gwenevere had such trouble fitting in down here in the slums.

She had never been taught how to survive, because survival had never been intended.

"I-it's okay! You don't have to answer if you don't want to! I shouldn't have asked!" Erin countered in a near-hysterical tone, though her lips continued to smile weakly.

Sensing her unease, Gwenevere met her gaze. Erin gasped as their eyes met. Those endless rolling hills of livid green and surreal gold never ceased to both amaze and startle her. People had told Erin that her eyes were beautiful, spectacularly blue. They were wrong. These eyes before her now, were the spectacular ones. Splendid treasures that not even Garrett could ever truly plunder, nor understand.

"I learned a long time ago. When I lived at the Simmons manor." The nymph spoke sadly.  
She then looked up to where Sophie sat, frozen. Gwenevere couldn't be certain, but it appeared as though the older woman was trying hard to contain something painful. "But Sophie helped me get better. She can help you too Erin, if you let her. We can all help anytime you need us to. All you have to do is ask." She crooked her head to the side. "You know that, don't you?"

Erin was speechless.

Did she somehow know? Did this free-spirited creature somehow sense her perils and tribulation as of late? Her blue eyes widened at the thought. It seemed impossible. But then again, Gwenevere was a nymph. As such, Erin wasn't entirely sure what she was capable of.

"Uh, yeah... " she released her tension in the form of a weak chuckle. "Yeah, I know that."

Unless she pressed the matter, Erin was content to just dismiss Gwenevere's words as mere coincidence.

As it turned out, they indeed were.

But she should have taken the advice.

**RAP RAP!**

A sudden braying on Sophie's front door caught everyone's attention. The boxman's sister stood, and looked down at the two young women in her care through serious eyes.

"Both of you. Get back to the spare room, now. If you hear a scuffle," she gave Erin a nod. The assassin's eyes grew very wide.  
"Sophie?!" She whispered in that frightened tone it nicked at her pride to use.

But Erin couldn't help it. Sophie and Basso were as much family to her as Garrett. And the thought of Sophie being attacked or overtaken by a threat-

**RAP RAP RAP!**

"Now girls!" Sophie hissed through clenched teeth.  
"Why? What's happening?" Gwenevere looked up, both fearful and confused. Sophie bit her bottom lip and pulled her dagger down from the mantel. The nymph tried again. "Sophie, what's wrong?"  
"Go with Erin now Gwenevere."

Gwenevere began to protest, until a light voice could be heard through the door.

"Gwenevere? Are you here child?" The nymph's eyes flashed.  
"Now!" Sophie demanded in a harsh voice; one that she had never spoken to Gwenevere with before.  
"No, wait.." Walking past her, Gwenevere reached the door.

Before Sophie could stop her, she unlocked and pulled it open.

There in the doorway, stood Keeper Mcclay.

The ancient Keeper was placid, his hands tucked into the folds of his airy sleeves. Noticing as Sophie stepped protectively in front of Gwenevere, the edges of his wrinkled lips quirked slightly upwards.

"Is this a bad time?" He asked.  
"Damn right this is a bad time!" Sophie snarled, pointing her dagger at Mcclay. "Get the hell out of here, right now!"  
"Forgive me, dear lady. But I have personal business with Gwenevere."  
"Like hell you do! You better leave my home now, before I slit your bloody throat!" Sophie's eyes then narrowed as she began to slowly recognize the man before her. "Wait a second; you're that Keeper from the alley! The one who took Ayeena and Nellarose with him."  
"I am."  
"Well, where are they now? And why are YOU here?!" She pressed him, raising the dagger to his chest.

Mcclay silently stared into the older woman's greying blue eyes. They were brimming with protection, as well as a hint of personal fear. However, that fear wasn't about to stop her from laying down her life to defend her brood, and he knew that.

Respected that.

His smirk lengthened into a genuine smile. Sophie seemed to be surprised at this, until the strange hooded man spoke again.

"Gwenevere. It seems you neglected to explain to your host that visitors would be arriving today." Mcclay creaked.  
"Oh yeah. Sorry." The nymph giggled, blushing with embarrassment. Both Erin and Sophie glared down at her.  
"Seriously?!" Erin raised an eyebrow.  
"Ugh, Gwenevere..." Sophie exhaled a relieved sigh, shaking her head. She then lowering her dagger from Mcclay's person, and looked back up at the Keeper through the crack in the doorway. "So you two know each other. Fine. What brings you here?"  
"As I told you. I need to speak with Gwenevere, regarding the arrangement we have."  
"He means the books I'm gonna help him translate." Gwenevere added.

Sophie was reluctant for a few moments, before granting Mcclay entry to her home. A young man was also with him, prompting the boxman's sister to become edgy again. This time, it was Mcclay who eased her concern.

"There is no cause for alarm, m'lady. This is my squire, Tobias. He is like a son to me, and means you no harm."

The lad cowered behind his mentor's robes like a frightened child, despite the fact that he was a young man. Noticing this, Erin smirked.

"Well then please, come in Keeper Mcclay. Tobias." Sophie nodded in his direction, but Tobias retained his unnerved stance. She looked questionly back up at Mcclay. "Is there something wrong with him?"  
"Wrong? Oh no. Toby is just the shy type." The Keeper looked down at his second shadow and grinned. "Tobias, balance and manners please."

Reluctantly, Tobias stood up straight and backed away from his mentor.

"H-hello. I'm Tobias. A pleasure to meet you." He bowed.

Erin snickered again, snorting up some of the water she'd been drinking. That's when Tobias noticed her. Recognizing her from the night in the Pagan Tunnels, he felt his face flush.

"Hi..." He managed. The blue-eyed assassin just scoffed and turned away, content to just ignore him.  
"Well, now that I know who you are let me welcome you properly. I'm Sophie, and welcome to my humble home. Any friend of Gwenevere's is like family to me, so please, do make yourself comfortable." She smiled.

Mcclay stared at her, bemused by her sudden shift in attitude. Then, he smiled back.

"Thank you, good lady."  
"Please, sit down! Would you like some water, coffee perhaps?" She offered.

Mcclay took a seat in the large armchair, emitting a tired groan.

"Coffee would be lovely, please."  
"Great! I'll go ahead and get that for you." Sophie replied, making her way to the small kitchen.

Left in the living area with Gwenevere, Erin, and Tobias, Keeper Mcclay faced the excited nymph.

"Let us get down to business then, Gwenevere."


	45. Chapter 45

Sophie entered her kitchen to find Pilfur snoozing within her sink.  
"Silly cat!" She groaned, jarring the feline from his dreams.

His widened black irises contracted into crescents, as he stared pensively up at the annoyed human. She was far from pleased by where he had chosen to slumber.  
"I need to use the sink please." The older woman laughed, hands on her hips yet far from annoyed or angry. Pilfur just blinked, refusing to move.

Who did this human think she was; disturbing him from his nap?!

"Pilfur, come on..." Sophie rolled her eyes, speaking to the cat in similar fashion to the way she condescended Basso.

She reached out and embraced his lithe body, his fur warm from the rays of sunlight which had bathed him as he slept. Pilfur became limp in her arms, his final act of refusal. Sophie set him gingerly down upon the kitchen floor, then stroked him with gentle fingers.

"You can have it back in a moment, I promise." She smiled, then turned her attention to preparing Keeper Mcclay's coffee.

******************************************

The Keeper finished his beverage, and set the empty china cup back onto the polished end table. He stared down at Gwenevere through questioning eyes. The nymph seemed to be lost in her personal thoughts, her emerald eyes locked on the nearby window. Ever curious of the rare creature, Mcclay followed her gaze.

There was a plump little bluebird perched on the windowsill, merrily tweeting a tune which the elder could not hear well through the glass. He knew however, that the nymph's ears were picking up on every precious note the bird sang.

And she knew what they meant.

"My dear?" He asked as the bird looked inside the apartment, only to take flight at the sight of the denizens within.

Gwenevere turned, her attention now fully directed on Mcclay. The Keeper smiled, the corners of his wrinkled lips expanding.

"I heard what happened to you last month. How are you faring now?"

Gwenevere released a tired sigh.

"It's a little sore, but I'm trying my best to get better."

"No need to rush things, child. Healing comes quicker to those who slow down."

Gwenevere looked down at her wound. Pilfur was now resting beside her, and he purred with delight as the young woman slowly ran her hands along his lean form. Mcclay began to frown, sensing something worse than her injury was troubling her.

"Gwenevere? What is it?" The nymph faced him with a look of utter guilt.

"Garrett doesn't know you're here. He doesn't know that I've been talking to you through the Memory Keeper." She managed, placing a single, shaking hand to her chest. Her thin digits found and traced the relic.

Instantly, Keeper Mcclay sensed that there was something she was keeping from him. Something recent, like a fresh scar still ripe with pain and crusted blood.

"Have you kept secrets from Garrett before then?"

Gwenevere's head snapped upright, her celadon eyes riddled with tears of innermost hurt. She pressed her lips tightly together to keep them from trembling. She did not answer him. She didn't have to.

"I see." Mcclay bowed his head. "You fear that he will see this as a betrayal."

Gwenevere nodded.

"Is that why you have only recently contacted me?"

Again, she nodded, slower than before.

"I..." she began in a dull whimper, "I never wanted to hurt Garrett. I have always listened to him, obeyed him. But I got in trouble for it." She met the Keepers gaze, allowing him to see the utmost fear and sorrow waltzing within her watery eyes.

Mcclay was very silent for several moments, seemingly just as conflicted as she. It had never been his intention to cause Gwenevere trouble-but once more, it seemed he unwittingly had. He wheezed forth a deep sigh, and cracked his boney knuckles out of nervousness.

_Perhaps, I should have stayed away. Even with good intentions and helpful heart, I continue to worsen the situation for this girl. Perhaps this is why they have never come looking for me. The order was struck hard by Gamall-the Keepers do not need my kind to complicate matters further._

Looking back down at Gwenevere, Mcclay spoke again.

"Then blame me."

Gwenevere wiped a stray tear from her eyes, the green irises contracting in shock by Mcclay's words.

"Keyper Mcclay?"

"I was the one to bring you into this, and he knows I have been pursuing you. You have chosen a righteous path my dear; one that will aid many. I will not allow you to suffer for that."

"You'd really take the blame for this?" She whispered.

Keeper Mcclay studied her face for any sign of disapproval.

"A favor for a favor, my dear. You've held up your end of the deal."

Gwenevere looked surprised, but then she merely grinned with childish mischief.

"Thank you, Keyper Mcclay. For keeping this a secret." Her eyes were pulled downward to Pilfur, as the cat stretched and adjusted his position against her. "I love Garrett. I didn't even know I was capable of such powerful feelings. But..."

The Keeper raised an eyebrow.

"But?" He pressed.

"Sometimes I worry about what I'm doing. I can tell that my presence has changed him. I can't stay with him, now that I've sewn my seeds. When I go back to the forest, what will that do to him?" She looked up at Mcclay, positively terrified of what his answer would be-and knowing full well that the wise man had one.

Knowing this, the Keeper's lips twitched with unease.

"For his lack of balance, Garrett has never been impractical. When that day comes, he will deal with the situation in a fitting manner."

Gwenevere's eyes grew even wider.

"You really think he'll be okay?"

"He will never be the same; but he shall survive. And he will be the better for having known you, Gwenevere."

Gwenevere looked back down at Pilfur. She sensed that Keeper Mcclay wasn't telling her the entire story. He must have sensed her knowledge of this, because he abruptly changed the subject by pointing to the Memory Keeper.

"This is quite a remarkable relic, my dear. Dare I ask where you found it?"  
"Garrett gave it to me." Gwenevere muttered. The elder's eyes widened with zest.  
"Oh? I suppose I should have guessed that. Your thief does tend to take more than he gives however, and that does leave me ever so curious."  
"About what?"  
"Well, he obviously gave it to you after he no longer had any use for it, but how did he come across it in the first place? This is not the sort of object that one casually finds in the home of uppercrust nobles...but, if this is indeed the case, I may know how it got there."  
"You do?"

Gwenevere's disposition grew slightly less upset at this. Mcclay nodded.

"May I?" He asked, hand outstretched.

Gwenevere cocked her head at first, seemingly lost as to what he wanted. Mcclay's smile expanded, and he pointed to the Memory Keeper with his other hand.

"Oh! Of course! Sorry..." Gwenevere giggled, slightly embarrassed.

With utmost care and finesse, she gingerly unhinged the clasp of her necklace. Then, she passed the hanging relic to Mcclay. The Keeper toyed with it for several moments, feeling the texture and shape within his weathered hands.

"Before I tell you the story, I wish to know how much you have been told already," he met her gaze, narrowing his eyes," "by your mother."

Gwenevere gasped. Viktoria had told Gwenevere tales of the Memory Keeper from the days of partnership the nymph once had with a Keeper. He was trying to decipher the ancient mysteries of the Primal Stone, and its relationship to glyphs and the ancient forests.

The object had actually been in her possession for hundreds of years, and Gwenevere had seen it and even played with it on more than one occasion. Hence, why she wanted it so badly, and had even attempted to snatch it away from Garrett at the House of Blossoms.

Since Simmons had crushed her locket, this was the last link she had to her beloved mother.

"She told me what it was for, and how to read and conjure the glyphs therein." Gwenevere replied, growing very interested in finding out what sort of story Mcclay had in store for her.  
"Mmmhmm..." the Keeper nodded, "as I suspected. You know how to read glyphs. The ones which we make visible for untrained eyes at least."  
"Yes."  
"How did this relic leave your mother's possession, child?"

Upon uttering this new question, Mcclay instantly regretted it. Gwenevere squeezed her eyes shut and cried out uncontrollably. Fire and screams suddenly resonated from all around her, and she shook violently upon her knees.

The genocide.

Her friend, Lily slaughtered alongside her mother. A bronze mace nearly brought down hard upon her head, only to be deflected by venomous fangs and twisted roots. Gwenevere's first meeting with the Mechanists had been bloody, terrifying.

Even now, it caused her to recoil in fear.

"Gwenevere!" Sophie yelled, having heard the little nymph's scream. She rushed into the room to find a cowering, sobbing Gwenevere. Instantly, Sophie turned on Mcclay.  
"You! What the hell did you say to her?!" The boxman's sister demanded in her usual, brazen way.

Mcclay looked up at her, as clueless as she was.

"All I asked, was how the Memory Keeper left her mother's position."

Sophie's eyes narrowed. She was about to scald the man for bringing up Gwenevere's late mother, when she noticed the genuine concern written upon his face.

This, caused her to freeze. Regardless of what this secretive Keeper wanted with her, one fact was now glaringly clear.

For whatever reason, Mcclay cared.

This man cared enough for Gwenevere to not only volunteer to save her life, had Simmons perished. But he also wanted to help her remember-to rediscover her lost past. At that moment, Sophie gained a newfound liking of the strange old Keeper. For he too, sought to aid this lost creature.

Sophie's surrogate child.

"Well then..." was all the stunned woman could manage, as she turned away from him.

Walking over to Gwenevere, Sophie knelt down and wrapped her arms around her.

"Shhh...Gwenevere honey...it's okay..."

Mcclay watched with keen interest as Sophie rocked and crooned to the nymph with as much love as any real mother.

"You certainly care a great deal for her." He commented.

Although she smiled, Sophie did not answer him. Instead, she focused all of her attention on comforting Gwenevere.

The elder felt as acidic bile ravaged his stomach. He dug his nails into the armrests of the chair he was in, silently cursing himself for causing this precious girl distress. Even if it had been accidental, it was still his doing.

Just like before...

The armchair gave a slight squeak, and both Sophie and Gwenevere looked up to see Keeper Mcclay standing.

"Tobias! Come. Let's be on our way."

The young squire scampered out of the dining area where he had been waiting and gawking at Erin. She had threatened him, but to no avail. Tobias, was enamored with her.

"Yes sir!" He peeped.  
"Keyper Mcclay, wait!" Gwenevere sniffed, wiping her eyes, "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to cry. Please don't go!"

Mcclay smiled at her touching words.

"It is no trouble, my dear. I should have waited until you were healed to speak of business."  
"I-I don't mind!"  
"Really, Mr. Mcclay. You don't have to leave," Sophie pleaded, her arm still planted around Gwenevere's back, "why don't you and your apprentice stay for dinner?"  
"I do not wish to impose, dear lady."  
"It's no imposition! Please, be my guest for dinner." Sophie's periwinkle eyes grew lustrous. "Please. I've never met anyone who wants to help Gwenevere as much as I do. You are a very kind man, and I would be honored to feed you. I insist."

Keeper Mcclay, appeared apprehensive at first. He looked from Tobias, to Gwenevere, then Sophie. Finally, the old Keeper gave a reassuring chuckle. He looked up at Sophie with his warm, dark brown eyes.

"Well, who am I to turn down such kind hospitality?"


	46. Chapter 46

Gwenevere helped Sophie set the table, while the older woman took the evening's meal from the oven. From her time spent with the little nymph, Sophie had learned a bit more about cooking, and she was becoming more creative and daring with her dishes. She was trying out a new recipe that night-potato casserole seasoned with pork fat and onion sprigs. It certainly wasn't much, and if it wasn't for the herbs and spices she'd added, Sophie doubted that it would even be very palatable.

She looked off into the living room and cringed. Was this a fitting meal for guests? She honestly didn't know what Keeper Mcclay was used to eating, or if he would recoil from her cheap and bland cooking. But it was all she had to offer him, and she had invited him to stay.

"I've finished, Sophie!"

Gwenevere's cheerful voice shattered the veil of silent doubt from Sophie's thoughts. She looked down at her surrogate daughter, and gave her a hopeful smile.

"Thank you Gwenevere. You know you didn't have to help, given your injuries."  
"I know. But I wanted to." The nymph chirped.  
"Well, as long as you feel up for it dear. Just don't push yourself." The boxman's sister added, her tone saturated with maternal love and concern.

Before Gwenevere could respond, there was a brisk rap at the front door. Sophie froze. After Keeper Mcclay's rather uneventful visit and the suspense and fear it had warranted, her nerves were anything but sound.

She went for her dagger again-that is, until a gruff and very familiar voice sounded from the other side of the doorway.

"Hey Soph! Thought today was laundry day!" The underworld matriarch rolled her eyes.

_One of these days Basso, you're going to give me a heart attack..._

She unlocked the door, and smirked at the sight of her older sibling, a basket of laundry in his arms. There was a bottle of booze nestled atop the soiled pile, and Sophie revolted when a whiff of the dirty clothing found her nose.

Basso just stared at her, a hint of concern within his brown eyes.

"Thursday's always been laundry day Sophie. Heck, you're usually at my door by noon ta pick it up. Everything okay?"

Sophie smiled back at him, opening the door wider.

"Yes Basso, everything's fine."

Basso chucked, setting the basket down beside the coat tree.

"Well that's good!"

He retrieved the bottle from his basket, polishing the glass between the folds of his coat. Sophie pursed her lips as she examined the liquor. It was an unopened bottle of red wine.

"What's that for?"  
"Oh this?" The boxman eyed the bottle in a discerning manner. "Welp, figured I might as well bring Gwennie a little pick me up. I feel bad for the gal-ya know? Stuck in this drab place all day with you and Garrett...taff, that's rough!"

Sophie crossed her arms, and began tapping her foot in distain.

"Uh-huh...do you want clean laundry this week?"

Basso's smile widened, the hairs of his moustache retracting along the sides of his upturned lips.

"Eh..." he shrugged, haphazardly, "I ain't got no one to impress!"  
"Basso!" Gwenevere's voice chimed throughout the small apartment like an untamed song.

The boxman looked up as the nymph walked towards him, and cringed. Basso had known this girl for almost a year, and never before had she been this slow. This stilted.  
Instantly, his smile diminished, the sight of the broken nymph flooding him with intense sorrow and guilt. He nearly dropped the bottle as she got closer, her pain prevalent in every step she took.

"Christ kid..." He managed in a hushed, horrified tone.

He'd heard from Sophie about the incident, and he'd prepared himself for the worst. However, nothing could have prepared him for this. Gwenevere smiled, her eyes sparkling with an untouchable mystical fire. But the zest was gone, as if her unbridled spirit had also been crushed by the Hammerite's weapon.

Upon hearing his exclamation, Gwenevere stopped. She could sense that her wounds were the cause of Basso's reaction. Noticing her confused frown, he forced himself to address her further.

"H-how ya doing there, girly?"  
"Oh, I'm getting better. It doesn't hurt very much anymore when I sit still. But it still hurts to move around a little." The nymph explained, worried that she might upset him again.  
"Uh-huh. Why ya outta bed then?"

Although the question was directed at Gwenevere, Basso locked eyes with his sister as he asked. Sophie clenched her teeth, then answered him in a low whisper.

"She absolutely refuses to sit still."  
"Then try harder Soph!" Basso hissed, leaning into her. "The kid's a mess!"

Sophie bristled at that.

"I've tried Basso, but she's-"  
"-a nymph." Mcclay suddenly intervened, stepping into the hallway. Both siblings met his warm expression with a look of surprise. "Her kind cannot be contained, their need to indulge and reveal in life vastly outweighs both pain and fear."

Basso raised an eyebrow at this. Turning back to Sophie, he pointed at the Keeper.

"Who the hell's he?"  
"Oh. Basso, this is Keeper Mcclay. He and his squire, Tobias, are my dinner guests. They are friends of Gwenevere's." Sophie explained, briskly grabbing the bottle from his hands.  
"Does Garrett know that Mcclay's here?" Basso pressed her.  
"Well, no. I haven't seen Garrett since yesterday. But you know him-it's normal for Garrett to go off on his own for days at a time. The man needs his space." She replied.

Basso looked as if he were about to argue, but instead he simply shrugged.

"Welp, it ain't none of my business anyhow." The boxman looked Mcclay up and down warily.  
The Keeper's ancient eyes were transfixed upon his sister. "Mind if I stay for dinner too, little sis?"

Sophie laughed.

"Of course Basso. Come on, I'll feed you!"

Soon after, the entire home sat down to eat. Sophie cringed as she scooped a generous portion of her concoction for both of Gwenevere's new friends. Next, she served Gwenevere, Erin and Basso. Lastly, she scraped what was left onto her own plate, and seated herself. Pilfur looked up at her and mewed.

"Don't worry, I saved some pork fat for you." She smiled, rubbing the cat behind his jagged ears.

Sophie looked up at her full table when she heard the scraping of silverware against their plates. Basso was the first to dig in, devouring his meal with starved gusto. Mcclay and Tobias waited in silence for everyone to begin eating, including their host, before taking up some of the casserole with their forks.

"So? How is it?" Sophie asked, nervously.  
"Tastes better than the last meal you cooked Soph." Basso chuckled, his mouth still half full. His little sister made a sour face.  
"I'll take that as a compliment, coming from you."  
"You should. I don't compliment your cookin' often sis. After all, you've never been very good at it."

Sophie's brows furrowed.

"Well, that never stops you from stuffing your face every time I make you a meal!"  
"I find this potato casserole to be quite delicious, m'lady." Keeper Mcclay intervened.

Basso gave the him a mocking grin.

"You're kidding."

Mcclay wiped his lips.

"Oh contraire! It reminds me of the food we ate back at the compound. Not too spicy, not too rich, "he looked up at Sophie and smiled, "just enough of everything good."

Sophie looked surprised, her face flooding with both heat and embarrassment.

"Why thank you, Mr. Mcclay." She brushed a strand of greying brown hair from her eyes, as her face began to redden.

The Keeper smiled.

"Please, call me Cedric."

"Keyper Mcclay?" Gwenevere asked, her mouth full of food.  
"Hmmm? What is it child?"  
"Why don't you stay with the other Keypers? Garrett told me that there are a lot of you guys, so it seems odd for you to travel in such a small group."  
"That's quite an astute observation child. You see, the Keepers have allowed me to carve my destiny whilst out book hunting, so long as I keep my outside life separate from my life within the order. Therefore, I must only return in order to deposit books into the Keeper Libraries." He explained.  
"So what brings ya to The City then?" Basso inquired. "Not sure there are many interesting Keeper books here anymore."  
"I am here on a request. The last Keeper Interpreter requested that I try and look into a certain prophecy. Involving Gwenevere."

All eyes were immediately focused on the ancient Keeper. Mcclay barely noticed, as he continued to dine.

"Woah, woah, WOAH! Gwenevere's part of some prophecy?!" Erin, who had been extremely reserved and quiet for the duration of the day finally barked.

Her blue eyes were aglow with questioning discomfort.

"Who are you?" Mcclay looked the young assassin over warily.  
"The hell does it matter?! You haven't asked Sophie or Basso that question!" Erin snapped.

Mcclay drew back, a shocked look upon his weathered face. But then, his grin slowly expanded and he gave an accepting nod.

"Such a strong one. It is good to see strong determination and drive amongst the youth."  
"I'm not exactly a child, grandpa!" She continued to assail him. "What's this about a prophecy?! Shouldn't Garrett be made aware of this-especially if Gwenevere is involved?"

Erin looked the nymph dead in the eyes accusingly, causing Gwenevere to cower.

"Ah! So you know the thief then?" Mcclay pressed her.  
"Again, none of your business!" Erin hissed.  
"This is Erin. She's like a daughter to Garrett. He practically raised her." Sophie concluded, shooting the assassin a harsh frown. "Mind your manners."  
"I see..." Mcclay closed his eyes and brought his index finger to his lips in contemplation.  
"That's none of his business Sophie!" Erin slammed her hands down hard upon the table, then stood. "I'm outta here!"  
"Erin?" Sophie yelled for her as the young woman exited the dining room.

Erin looked over her shoulder once, conveying her deep pain and heavy burden to the group. The older woman stood, knowing instantly that something was very wrong.

Erin had always been rude, to say the least. She learned from Garrett to distance herself from others by descending deep into a cold and spiny shell. But lately, she'd been acting extremely edgy and secretive. Almost as if she was hiding something. Something that none of her family would approve of, especially the overprotective thief.

Sophie barely managed to stop the assassin as she reached the front door.

"Erin! What the hell has been going on with you lately?!"

She asked more out of concern than anger, but regardless, the departing woman refused to answer. Erin spun around and locked eyes with Sophie, her cerulean irises positively boiling with fear. Despite her most stubborn efforts, her darkened lips began to quiver, and those same eyes flooded with tears of utmost anguish. But Erin managed to hold them there.

"Erin? What's happened?"

Sophie reached out and clasped the young woman's shoulder, feeling as she shuddered beneath her touch. Sensing how hard she was fighting back the agonizing and bitter tears. The boxman's sister stared into the assassin, awaiting a response from her surrogate niece. But it never came.

"I...I gotta go. I've got a job tonight..."

Erin finally swallowed the lump in her throat, sounding hoarse. There was an unmistakable grudge in her tone, as well as deep dread and dismay.

"A job? You mean a hit?" Sophie craned her head to the side, her voice growing softer.

Erin rubbed her hand. The one that the Ramirez Bastards had branded. The leather glove she was wearing chafed against the sensitive area.

"Something like that, yeah." She replied in a soft, distant voice. Once again, her blue eyes met Sophie's. "Look, I'm sorry for being rude, or mean, or whatever to your guests. I've just had a lot on my mind lately."  
"Erin, of course it's alright. But what sorts of things are bothering you?"  
"I..." Erin's throat grew tight as another lump formed within, then intensified. "...I can't tell you...please don't hate me Sophie..."  
"Erin, none of us could ever hate you dear." Sophie reassured her, clasping her other shoulder. Erin looked up at her with the face of a guilty teenager. "Now what's going on sweetheart?"

Erin took a deep breath, holding onto it as if it were her last. She opened her mouth, hoping to give at least some clue as to what terrible fate had befallen her. What evils she had been made to endure over the last several years at the hands of those brutish thugs. But no words found her gaping maw. Nor tears, or anything remotely expected.

Instead, a loud rumble echoed throughout the small apartment. Sophie shrieked as the floor beneath her began to shake and shift.

"K-Keeper Mcclay! W-what's happening?!" Tobias stammered, cowered closer to his mentor.  
"Calm yourself, Toby. There must be a logical explanation for this disturbance." The elder comforted.

Before anyone within Sophie's safehouse could register on what was transpiring, a mournful howl rang out in the night.

Erin stood up straight, straining to listen.

It took another mini earthquake beneath her boots before she finally recognized the sound. A twisted pit of realization found her stomach.

It was a burrick.

More specifically, it was the only burrick to be released upon the city streets in recent years.

Or rather, weeks.

Erin rolled her eyes, and braced herself for the inevitable.

"Oh taff...she's found me..."


	47. Chapter 47

By the time the four had made it outside, the offending disruption had been halted. Erin's young burrick now sat hutched over between two members of the city watch. Her head was down, and small whimpers emanated from her throat like those of a guilty dog. She had been muzzled with both heavy rope and chain, the two muscular guards holding her firmly by the ends of each.

Gwenevere bristled when she saw the tragic scene, not realizing that this was only the watch's way of protecting the innocent. Green flares gleamed within her eyes, and she clenched her teeth as the juvenile burrick whined again. But Garrett's firm training held strong within her mind, and therefore, she deigned to attack.  
Ruby hair brushed lazily across her face. She hadn't prepared her disguise, but that was probably the last thing on her mind. Her side was beginning to ache horribly, and the sight of this timid creature chained nearly made her want to vomit.

Sophie's eyes widened in utmost shock.

"What exactly is that thing?!" She shrieked. Taking a step backwards, she continued to gawk at the sad and lonely animal.  
"This here, is a burrick miss." The guard nearest to Sophie informed.  
"A burrick? Really?!"

Sophie had only ever seen illustrations of burricks before in story books, and said tomes almost always portrayed the creatures in their adult form. There were subtle differences, namely coloration, between a fully mature and adolescent burrick. Nevertheless, the sight of such a rare beast was unexpected for her, to say the least.

"Yup, an' we're here ta figger out what where he came from." The man cleared his throat.  
"What the heck is a burrick doin' knawing its way through yer house, Soph?" Basso exclaimed, a bit past tipsy by this stage in the meal.

His sister shot him a menacing stare, instantly reminding him to keep his voice down. After some awkward shuffling, another guard marched out from behind the burrick. He was dressed slightly nicer than his two companions, although he had the same air of incompetence about him. He wore a look of both pride and drunken stupor upon his weathered face.

"Evening!" He greeted in a jolly manner. "Do any of you people know anything about this here burrick? Like, what's it doing here in the center of town?"

The family members all looked at one another, each as confused as the last. Save Erin, who knew exactly what the creature was doing there. But she hid it well.

"Humph! So that's how it's gonna be, eh?" The guard crossed his arms.

Basso squinted at him. The boxman had the faintest of inklings, that he knew this particular member of The City watch. Had drank with him once or twice, back in the day. But the memory was hazy at best.

"Captain! A word, if I may?" The nasally gaurd on the left of Erin's burrick cleared his throat. There was a hint of both distain and annoyance in his voice. "Maybe you should start by, oh I dunno, actually introducing yourself? Maybe tell these good people what this is all about?"  
"Their house is practically chewed through, Joshua! I think they know why we're here!" The other guard snorted. "Now, as I was askin', do any of you taffers know anything I don't?"  
"Careful Captain, that's an awfully long list. We might be here all night." Guardsman Joshua muttered to his companion at the other end of the loose burrick's chain. His friend snickered.

Sophie stepped forward.

"We were all eating dinner when the creature began it's digging, captain. Why do you think we're all gathered outside like this?"  
"Hmmm, that's a good point." The captain stroked his chin, trying to put the pieces together. "You know, I could really go for a nice meal about now. Maybe a little mead..."  
"Captain?" The two guards prompted in unison.

A glimmer of fading sunset caught the corner of Basso's eyes. Looking the Captain of the City Watch over discerningly, he now understood where he had seen him before.

"Benny? That you?" The boxman's eyes grew livid with the joys of finding a long-lost friend.

The captain in turn, beamed with laugher. He hadn't noticed Basso yet; Sophie's presence had stolen all attention.

"Basso?"

Basso nodded, rushing forward to greet his old mate. The two men embraced, each as excited for the reunion as the last.

The rest of the family was surprised, to say the least.

"How'ya been Benny?" Basso looked the captain up and down, still clutching his arms. "Finally got that promotion, eh? No wonder I ain't been seeing much of you down at the tavern these days!"

Benny tapped his chest, his face gushing pride.

"Yup. Took me over fifteen years, but I did it! All those other bluecoats, they thought they had what it took. They said I was a lazy, good-fer-nothin' drunk! Well, look who's laughing now!"

The two guards behind the captain rolled their eyes once more.

"You've got to be kidding me." Erin whispered to Sophie. "Basso and the Captain of the Watch?!"  
"My brother may prefer folks from the underworld, but anyone who'll buy him a pint is a good man in his eyes." Sophie whispered back.

Erin gave a confused, silent nod before looking back at the contained burrick. She looked so pathetic, with her head drooped like that. The assassin's blue eyes sparkled with sympathy, and a deep guilt.

This was all her fault.

She had taken the egg from the nest, and she had rejected the newly hatched baby into an unknown world. But no. She couldn't take the blame! It was the Ramirez Bastards who had forced her to keep the thing! After all, how was SHE supposed to know that burricks imprinted like baby ducks?! It wasn't her problem anymore, and what did it matter if there was one less burrick in the world? Why did this even bother her so much?

"Listen sir, I can assure you that none of us own that thing." Sophie addressed the captain. Guards Captain Benny twirled a finger through his moustache.  
"Hmm...well, if you don't own it, then who does?" He pressed. "Ya see, I can't order the men ta kill it, because it's an enda...enda...endangered species. Instead, we really need ta find and imprison the owner until the damage has been reversed, at which time they will be subject to a hefty fine, as well as repairs."

Erin gulped. This situation was starting to concern her. A voice inside screamed for her to get out of there, but she felt paralyzed. Furthermore, if she ran, what message would THAT send to the already suspicious city watch?

The burrick began pawing at the muddy earth, catching Erin's scent through the moist air. Again, Erin tensed. Just when she thought the entire situation couldn't worsen, it did, and in the worst possible way. One of the guards holding her chain reached up to scratch his nose. In that moment, the juvenile burrick bolted.

"Oh boy!" Benny exclaimed, leaping back as she tore past him, dragging the other poor guard along behind her.  
"Heh, now THAT'S loyalty! Give that guy a raise, eh?" Basso chuckled, nudging his mate.

Erin gasped, as the beast galloped right up to her. It skidded on the mud before sliding into a neat sitting position directly in front of her. The guard was still holding her chain, dazed and muddy.

"Nonononono...shoo! Get lost..." Erin hissed at the creature through clenched teeth.

It was difficult with everyone watching her, obviously coming to the inevitable conclusion she dreaded they'd reach.

"Get lost you! Can't you tell I don't-"

Before she could finish her sentence, the burrick gently head-butted her to the ground. Erin landed with a yipe, then instantly felt a rough and rather slimy sensation grace her cheek. To her disgust, she opened her eyes to see the creature licking her.

"Hey Cappy! I think we just found the owner!"  
"NO!" Erin clumsily scrambled to her feet. "I don't own this...this stinky thing!"

The burrick cocked its head with a low whine. Erin glared at her.

Captain Benny marched over and crossed his arms.

"Well, that's what it looks like ta me!"

_Shit... _Erin ground her teeth. She scanned the cloudy night sky, as if searching for an answer to this hellish predicament.

"Now, stay still. If you come with us to the station quiet-like, we can afford any unnecessary ruckus." Benny approached her, a thin pair of iron shackles in hand.

Erin took a step backwards, looking up at her confused family. Sophie looked by far, the most concerned. There must have been a pleading, helpless look within the young assassin's eyes, because she wasn't the only one.

"Keeper Mcclay! We must help her!" Tobias tugged at his mentor's robes.

Mcclay looked down at his squire, a bit surprised by his childish behavior.

"Why do you concern yourself over that girl so?" His tone was level, yet highly curious.

Tobias went red in the face, betraying his response before his next words could come.

"She's trouble boy, can you not sense it? A woman like that will only bring you pain." The Keeper instructed wisely.

The three guards had now all but cornered Erin against a building, completely ignoring the burrick for the time being. The creature appeared highly distressed, bellowing and snorting as they inched ever closer to her 'mother'. Again, Tobias grabbed at Mcclay's robe.

"Please Master? Just this once?"

Keeper Mcclay was silent for a moment, watching as Erin grew suspiciously confident. It was clear to him, that the girl was preparing to cause more damage than she already had.

_Is this how you trained her, I wonder? Or has this waif strayed from the lone wolf who once left our own pack?_

A glint of sharp silver caught the corner of his eye. His ward's desire to protect her was both unbalanced and foolhardy, but Mcclay also couldn't allow this vicious girl to murder a guard captain here. So close to where Gwenevere was living. No, he needed to keep her as safe as he could. The sake of the future depended on it. With a twist of his hand, a sheer blue light grew into a lustrous orb. It pooled outward, rippling and darting against the unsuspecting streets. The magical streetlamps buzzed as their weaker mana light mingled with the ancient veil, and silence overtook the area as all was consumed.

Conscious thought receded from all who were touched by that unspoken power, save the Master Keeper who had conjured it. Mcclay's eyes narrowed, yet within was a sparkle of mysticism, revealing a forgotten secret, which would never cease to haunt him.

For there was an extremely dark reason for why he carried such a power.

**********************************************

She screamed, even if she did not remember it. She must have. However, when she opened her eyes again, Erin was perfectly calm. Serenity danced upon her heart like a forgotten friend, and she let a contented sigh leave her lips. She was laying on her back, looking up at a ceiling of dirt, heavy beams, and dim lantern light.  
A warm, sulphurous breath caused her cheek to tingle. Rolling over, the young woman locked eyes with her burrick. The creature looked hopeful.

"Oh, don't give me that! You nearly got me arrested! Taff that, I wouldn't have been caught! I wouldna slashed those bluecoats! I don't need any more smudges on my rap sheet, okay? Enough people want me dead already." She hollered, standing from the wooden bench.  
"Which is why I imagine he brought you here." A strong voice called from the darkness.

Erin whirled around to meet a pair of blue eyes. They were lighter than hers, but no less dangerous.

"Who the hell are you?! And where's 'here'?!" She demanded.  
"My name's Sandris, welcome. You'll be safe here, Erin. So no need to try to leave for now; Keeper Mcclay says he wants to speak to you." The woman flipped a strand of her long brown hair over her shoulder.  
"I don't need to listen to you! And I'm NOT gonna listen to that old geezer either. Garrett says never trust a Keeper." Erin retorted. The burrick waddled up to her side, staring up at the brunette, who was smiling now.  
"I wouldn't do that if I were you. Keeper Mcclay does not like to be kept waiting." Her blue eyes narrowed, as she stared into Erin. "As his Enforcer, I'll make damn sure you do what he wants."  
"Try me, bitch!" Erin snarled, going for her dagger. Only to discover that it wasn't attached to her belt. "What?!"  
"Keeper Mcclay figured you'd try to attack us, even though we did save your life. Tch, typical." She huffed.  
"What the hell is this all about?! Have you kidnapped me?!"  
"Oh wow! Someone's got trust issues." Sandris teased. "No, even if we DID kidnap people, we would have tied you up. Thought a street smart lady like yourself would know that."

Erin raised an eyebrow at that.

"So why does he want to talk to me anyway? If this is about Garrett, I ain't gonna give that Keeper anything!" She snapped, her voice low and defensive.  
"Garrett? Why does that name sound so familiar?"

Sandris put her index finger to her lip, lost in thought. An image of a black hooded figure tossing something spherical at her flashed across her memories. She squinted her eyes, unable to recollect just what had happened exactly. Until Erin opened her mouth again.

"What? You mean you haven't heard of Garrett? The Master Thief? Would have thought this Mcclay guy blabbed everything to you."

Sandris's eyes flew open, her pupils fully contracted.

"Garrett! That was the name of the thief who gas bombed me outside of the Hammerite Cathedral! He's the reason I lost my..." She balled her fingers into a tight fist, her knuckles turning white.  
"Your...what?" Erin gave her a bemused look.  
"Nothing. It's none of your business." Sandris grumbled. "Just go see Mcclay."


	48. Chapter 48

_Sweat soaked through Garrett's hood, his every nerve spent far past the point of anxiety. Gwenevere was sandwiched between him, and a heavy stone wall. Her exposed back was cold to the touch, yet he could feel her eagerness, her feral vivaciousness. She was shaking with adrenaline, and something else._

_Desire._

_The crevice they now found themselves in felt like an expanding fissure-pulling them further and further into a world of trapped desperation. A bluecoat cautiously approached, causing the thief's tightening stomach to plummet into a cold sea of dread. The nymph however, only grew more excited._

_"Garrett! I can take him!" The eager creature whispered as their iron-clad predator drew ever closer.  
"Shhh. No! It's not about that Gwenevere." Garrett snarled down at her. Gwenevere frowned.  
"I can do it! Just watch me Garrett! I-I'll make you so proud!"_

_She started to pry herself from his arms, but he pulled her back against his body again. Tighter this time._

_"Not a chance." He stared down at her, eyes resonating with sincere protection._

_She looked up at his smug grin, seeing the much softer side to that expression. The care he kept shrouded from all but this splendorous creature, and her watchful gaze. Gwenevere's eyes seemed to glisten, as if being fed by that secret care._

_Garrett watched as the bluecoat crept closer to their hiding spot, the flames of his torch licking at the darkness, seemingly devouring it. That's when the thief felt her break. He couldn't yell for her, and he wasn't fast enough to grab her._

_Instead, he watched helplessly as Gwenevere flung herself out into the open. The guard whirled around, a sudden gasp escaping his lips; revealing his surprise. The nymph faced him, her eyes glowing a wild shade of greenish yellow._

_He withdrew his sword, and hollered as she attacked, managing to block a few of her more serious blows. Garrett ground his teeth, and withdrew a single gas arrow from his quiver. However, he found aiming to be quite difficult, because his aggressive femme fatale kept darting in between his aim and the overwhelmed bluecoat.  
She managed to get in a direct hit at long last-a deep, and anguishing cut that ran almost the entire length of her quarry's upper arm._

_"Oi! I need some help over here!" The flustered man yelled, grappling at his slashed shoulder._

_In a matter of minutes, and long before the inexperienced girl had a chance to prepare, a total of ten angry guards had surrounded her. Her eyes scanned the situation, immediately alarmed. The blood drained from Garrett's face as he watched her expression vividly morph. Gwenevere's pupils grew dark, and large as moons, as woodsie tenacity was replaced by the terrified visage of an innocent girl._

_Moonlight glinted off of cruel steel as ten swords simultaneously ran the petrified girl through. She let out a high-pitched, pitiful screech; her head snapping back in shocked anguish. A string of silver tears flew from her eyes, and as her pupils grew from contracted to listless, emerald blood dashed across the castle walls._

_"GWENEVERE!"_

**************************************************

Garrett awoke with a start, his heart pounding, and his face still damp from the afternoon's rainstorm. As the rafters of the bell tower began to grow visibly clear, the thief exhaled a relived, yet heavy sigh. Still panting from the graphic nightmare, he crawled over to the edge of the tower. Wrapping a shaky hand up over the balcony, the thief gradually got to his knees.

He donned a silent frown as he glowered down into the soaked streets. They seemed so beautiful from up here, especially after a storm. Like mirrors to the heavens, the cobblestone reflected the hazy clouds, and the few determined little stars that managed to shine their light unto this broken world. The imposing stone gargoyles beside him had all but lost their luster over the centuries. Bird droppings and cobwebs decorated their once proud fangs and horns, their empty eyes still dripping with rain as if they were crying. Propping his body up to sit alongside them, the thief cast his eyes to the leaden sky.

He hadn't retreated to this hideaway since meeting Gwenevere. But lately, he had been feeling the night's pull. So much troubled him now, and almost all of it revolved around that girl. Taking out an apple from his knapsack, Garrett bit down, savoring the sweet fruit as he chewed. His mechanical eye zoomed in to examine the moon as the clouds parted to reveal its alabaster wonder.

The craters always fascinated him, although Garrett did not know they were called that. No one did, save the few eccentric hermits who had locked themselves away within their grim sanctuaries-devoting their very existences to study the skies. So much texture, and mystery was there. He wondered if anyone else thought so, save the nuts. The thief did have some understanding of the moons importance to the Pagans. Of course, they could all easily fall into the former category, in his opinion.

Thinking of the Pagans, inevitably directed his thoughts back to Gwenevere. How she had injured herself on their last job. Why hadn't she erected the barrier and ran? Why attack the Hammerites at all, when a far safer means of retreat was available? The longstanding injury she had sustained, had been completely avoidable.  
Garrett shuddered in light of his latest dream about the girl. Most of his imaginings of Gwenevere were less than terrifying-and most were downright pleasant. He'd never had a nightmare about her; and that was what bothered him. Was this, perhaps, more than just a mere dream?

Since that noxious evening when he had first discovered who her mother was; who her _real _father was, it had been apparent that Gwenevere would inevitably follow her violent roots in at least some aspect. Sharing his bed and life with a demi-goddess turned pure wood nymph had never been what disturbed him about the girl.

What kept him up at night, was what that blind fury would eventually cost _her_.

Garrett had thought her weaned from violence and killing, as the girl deigned to even bring her spore grenades with her when she went out. Gwenevere had made it perfectly, somewhat annoyingly clear, that she didn't want to hurt anyone.

So why had she tried to so adamantly that night?

Furthermore, didn't she realize that being a thief meant that collateral damage was sometimes necessary? Garrett preferred to slink through a job undetected by all, but there were several necessary occasions where he'd put his infamous blackjack to much use.

She was alright with merciless slaughter, but the thought of accidently knocking someone unconscious with her spore grenades upset her. Gwenevere's priorities, were skewed to say the least.

The thief took another bite of his apple, piercing the fruit down to the core. Sophie's words twisted and prickled at the far recesses of his mind-Gwenevere was not thief material. But it wasn't what she had said that bothered him. It was, that Garrett already knew. His façade was all but faded at this stage. He knew his reasoning for allowing Gwenevere to remain with him had nothing to do with her so-called 'training'. The girl hadn't even practiced her skills, or lack there of, in quite some time. Yet Garrett knew he would never send her off again. She was his now, and his alone.

The fact was, Gwenevere didn't need to be a thief to gain his attention, or fondness; although both were extremely difficult to obtain from the man. Another thought burned him as the thief finished his apple. Why did she want to so badly? She already had everything he could offer her, including things that Garrett never realized he COULD offer. Yet, why did Gwenevere continue to try and make him so happy? What was her motivation, if she already had everything?

_She's gonna get herself killed. It's time I admit that to myself. Gwenevere, will never be a thief._

Squeezing his eyes tightly shut, the Master Thief heaved the apple core as hard as he could over the rooftops. It landed with a inaudible thud against a building, then dropped like a dead leaf to the streets below. Garrett stared at it for several moments, before standing.

It was over. He would train Gwenevere in the art of theft no longer.

Her life was far too precious to gamble with.

***************************************************

**LATER THAT EVENING:**

Sophie finished her wine, confused and flustered. She could have sworn that there had been more dinner guests that evening. From under the table, Pilfur rubbed against her calf. The older woman smiled down at him, and placed her nearly empty plate down for his perusal. There was a bit of chicken fat gravy left on it, but little else. But the feline was more than satisfied with that. With a grunt, Basso stood from the table.

"Welp, everything was great Sophie. Thanks for havin' me!" The boxman tipped his hat to the silent nymph. "See ya kid."  
"Bye Basso." She peeped, her injury starting to ache again.

Just as he reached the front door, the knob turned on its own. Basso stepped backwards, the door barely missing his bulbous nose. A darkened figure stood in the foggy doorway, silent and imposing, before coming inside. It was Garrett. The two men tensed upon spying one another. They'd been doing a fairy decent job of avoiding each other-until now.  
_  
Damn! I knew I should have used the window._ Garrett brooded.

"Oh. Hello Garrett." The boxman initiated conversation, however it was awkward and forced.

The thief said nothing, instead choosing to push his way past his old friend. Basso bristled at that.

"At least I spoke to _you _Garrett!" He threw up his arms in rage.

The thief glared over his shoulder, his hazel eye betraying the rather nasty, yet unspoken words within his mind.

"What's going on here boys?" Sophie suddenly appeared in the doorway that separated the dining room from her living area. Noticing the front door wide open, she emitted a playful chuckle. "Did you use the door this time Garrett? Wow, I'm impressed!"  
"Yeah, he picked the lock to get in too." Basso grumbled.  
"What?!" Sophie squawked, leering at the thief. Garrett shrugged.  
"You told me to use the door. You didn't specify how."  
"Ugh. Well, one set of manners at a time, I suppose." She rolled her eyes, more bemused than upset.  
"GARRETT!"

Gwenevere suddenly burst into the room. Although it caused her considerable pain, she wrapped her arms around her thief, hugging him. Garrett's posture stiffened, his arms flying away from his form, bent at the elbows. Suffice to say, the thief still wasn't used to receiving this level of affection. From anyone.

"It's nice to see you too, Gwenevere." He managed to reply. Upon releasing him, the little nymph looked up at him through adoring eyes.  
"Did'ja enjoy your alone time?"  
"It was alright." His response was enigmatic, which troubled her. Frowning, Gwenevere took a step back and crooked her head.  
"You okay?"  
"I'm fine Gwenevere. Thank you." Garrett turned to Basso, his neutral expression distorting into a cold snarl. "Shouldn't you be leaving?"  
Both Sophie and Gwenevere looked shocked.  
"It ain't yer house Garrett! When are ya gonna find yer own place ta squat?" The boxman retorted.  
"My affairs are none of your business Basso."  
"Yeah, I'll bet! That's because you ain't GOT a plan, right?"  
"Shut it." Garrett threatened.  
"Enough! What the hell is this all about anyway?! Last time I looked, you two were friends!" Sophie mediated, stepping between them.

Basso pulled at the edges of his coat, straightening them against his neck.

"Forget it. It ain't important." He griped, taking his leave.  
"Basso, wait!" Gwenevere coughed, reaching out for him.

A leather-clad hand gently found her arm. She looked up to see Garrett, glowering at the boxman as he made his way out into the rainy streets.

"Don't bother Gwenevere."

Shutting the door, Sophie stood in front of it.

"What's going on Garrett? You and my brother haven't spoken ever since the Hammerite gold heist. Did something go wrong between you two that night?" She tapped her foot, her stance that of a stern mother looking over a child for any signs of guilt.  
"Something like that, yeah." The thief retorted, miffed that Sophie was once again trying to condescend him.  
"Well?" She crossed her arms.

Garrett didn't answer her. Instead, he took Gwenevere by the hand and walked the girl to her room. Once inside he locked the door, being excessively loud in doing so to make sure Sophie got the message.

And she did.

************************************

Gwenevere playfully kicked her legs back and forth over the side of the bed as Garrett finished treating and re-wrapping her injury for the night.

"Does it feel any better?" He mumbled, paying more attention to the bruising than her answer.  
"Yes. Well..." She made a face. Garrett looked up at her.  
"Well what?"  
"Well, it does hurt quite a lot when I help Sophie around the house and stuff." The thief's eyes went wide.  
"You've been doing chores Gwenevere? No. You need to stay in bed until the bruising goes away, else you're only going to complicate things." He looked her dead in the eyes. "Is that clear?"

Gwenevere sighed, looking down at her bare feet in shame.

"Okay..."  
"Why get up at all? Are you bored or something?" He crooked an eyebrow.  
"Uh-huh." She nodded, still looking steadily downward.  
"Well, why didn't you tell me sooner? I could let you borrow some of my books, or tell Sophie to let Pilfur stay in here with you. You shouldn't be walking around so much in your condition." He reprimanded.  
"I-I think I'd like that...to borrow a book, I mean." Gwenevere's eyes lit up. "If you'd let me, that is." Garrett smiled fondly at her.  
"What's mine is yours, Gwenevere."

Standing from the bed, he walked over to the duffle bag he'd brought from Nethalzia. Fishing inside, he found and withdrew a single tome. He passed the well-used book into Gwenevere's lap. "This is one of my personal favorites. I think you'd like it." His smile grew wider, knowing she would.

"The Adventures of Robber Hood and his Merry Thugs?" Gwenevere's brows furrowed. "What's it about?" She asked.  
"Read it and find out."

Gwenevere flipped the book open to the table of contents. There was some faded writing on the dog-eared page, but it was smudged. From what she could make out, it seemed that this had once been a gift.

"Did someone give you this Garrett?"  
"Nope. I stole it years ago." He grinned.  
"Wow, you must really, really like this book!" She gawked down at the rugged man clothed in deep hunters green upon the cover. While she was admiring the beautiful illustrations, Garrett noticed the unopened bottle of wine on her dresser.  
"Where'd you get that?" He asked, worried.

Nymphs, had one of the worst alcohol tolerances of any mystical creature. A few glasses would send them into a dancing fever that would last for days.

"Oh!" Gwenevere yipped, putting the book down. "Basso gave it to me." Garrett rolled his eyes.  
"Of course he did...Well, no use letting it go to waste. Besides, a little of this will help take the pain away."  
"Well, okay. If you say so." Gwenevere shrugged.

Taking out his dagger, the thief stabbed the tip into the cork. Then, with a firm tug, he pulled it free. The loud popping sound caused Gwenevere to jump. Garrett brought the bottle down to her, giving her a long, firm look.

"Just sip it." He spoke slow, so as to further express his concern over her getting herself inebriated. Gwenevere nodded, and reached for the neck of the bottle. He continued to hold onto it as she drank, gauging just how much she was consuming.  
"Ooh! It's so sweet!" She giggled, her cheeks growing flushed. She tilted the bottle back more forcefully, catching the thief just unaware enough to sneak in a hearty guzzle. Garrett jerked the bottle away from her.  
"No, no! I told you to sip it Gwenevere!" He seethed. The little nymph just giggled again, and it was much higher pitched this time. She fell back against her pillow, still laughing to herself.  
"What? It's good!" Garrett didn't offer a response to that, instead taking a swig from the bottle. He needed it, after all he'd been through that day. When she realized that he did not intend to give her any more, the nymph pouted.  
"Hey! Let me have just one more? Please?" Garrett glanced over at her, the girl's large green eyes wide and pleading. Exhaling a stream of hot air from his nostrils, the thief poured some of the deep red liquid into a shallow cup.  
"One more drink. That's it." He disdainfully shoved the cup into her awaiting hands. "And don't look at me like that."

Heeding his advice, Gwenevere took tiny sips from it, only satisfying her craving for the coveted beverage whenever Garrett would drink. Noticing this, he stopped and gave her an intrigued look. Gwenevere smiled, her eyelids closing in delight.

After about a quarter of the wine was gone, Garrett corked off the remaining liquid and set the bottle down at his feet. He was feeling slightly tipsy, but it was nothing serious.

"Garrett? Why are you and Basso fighting?" The little nymph asked out of nowhere, prompting the thief to look down at her confused expression.  
"It's between us. Don't trouble yourself over it." The thief grunted.  
"Sure thing." Gwenevere replied, although it was clear to him that she still wanted an answer.  
"By the way Gwenevere. I was wondering if you could do me a favor."

Gwenevere's jaw dropped. Sitting there with her mouth agape, the young woman's eyes grew enraptured.

"You want ME...to do a favor for YOU?" She croaked, positively breathless.  
"If it's possible, then yes."  
"Garrett, you know I'd do anything for you. What is it you need?"  
"Raw mana, or at least some magical equivalent. An upcoming job I'll be working requires arcane power to trip a certain door." Garrett replied.

Gwenevere was intrigued, but she knew better than to pry into Garrett's personal affairs. Especially his work.

"Well, okay." She slipped the woodsie emerald ring off of her finger and handed it to him. "If it's just for a door, that should be enough." Garrett examined the tiny piece of jewelry with a critical eye.  
"But this is only part of the orb you shattered Gwenevere."  
"Yes, but I've been wearing it for months now. The enchantments within the emerelds body have been absorbing and mingling with my magic and energy that entire time." She explained, although Garrett was still unsure just why she thought that meant anything to him.  
"Meaning?" He prompted.  
"Silly Garrett! It means there is just a little magic absorbed inside that ring now. The woodsie emerald is a very curious stone, you know." She smiled, a hint of fanciful luster twinkling in her eyes.  
"Well, I still have no idea what that means. But if you think it will work, I'll try it."

He reached for the ring, but Gwenevere quickly tucked it behind her back.

"But first you have to steal it away from me!" She winked, playfully.  
"You're gonna make me work for it, huh?" The thief grinned. "Come on Gwenevere, you're getting too old for this."  
"What are you talking about? You love it as much as I do!" She giggled, holding the object up over her head. Garrett leaned back, his intrigued expression melting solemnly into cold despair.  
"You're still pretty badly hurt. I can't risk leaning over you like that." Gwenevere's smile sank when she realized that he was right. Reluctantly, she handed Garrett the ring.  
"Guess you're right..." She mourned. "Darn, I really like that game too." Garrett smiled, his features growing warm.  
"We'll have plenty of time for games once you're healed Gwenevere, you know that."

The nymph yawned as she lazily watched the thief tuck her most beloved possession away with the rest of his tools. Garrett began to undress, the candle upon Gwenevere's bedside table casting a flattering shadow of his frame against the opposite wall.

"Garrett?" She asked, her eyes heavy with slumber.  
"Yes?" He grunted, sliding in beside her.  
"When I'm better, you're still going to teach me how to survive in this city, right? How to steal so I can help the people here?"

Discomfort teased at the thief's chest at her naïve words. He knew this wasn't the right time to tell her. His teachings meant absolutely everything to that girl, and Garrett did not want to upset her when she was trying to heal.

"After you've healed properly, we'll have a talk about all of that."  
"Oh, alright. Goodnight Garrett."

Gwenevere snuggled up against him, barely aware of what she was saying anymore in her exhaustion. The thief wrapped his arms around her shoulders and thighs, so as not to upset her wounds.

"Goodnight, Gwenevere." He gave her a rather brisk kiss on the forehead, watching as the young woman began to drift off.

But Garrett laid awake for a while after that, listening as she began to babble nymph-speak in her sleep. He was highly nervous about telling her of the decision that he had reached-that she could no longer be his student, after what happened back at the Hammerite Temple.

And he knew he had to break it to her at some point.


	49. Chapter 49

Breakfast that morning was pleasant. Through big mouthfuls of strawberries, Gwenevere continued to read the first chapter of her new book. It was quite fascinating. She found it utterly enticing, that the emerald-clad rogue had the exact goal in life as she-aiding the poor with the money of their oppressors. Garrett watched her read from across the table, buttering a slightly burnt piece of bread. Dark circles highlighted the bags that clung beneath both of his eyes. The thief had stayed up almost all night, trying to figure out the best way to break the news to his nymph protégé. Yet, he still had no idea how he was going to tell her. Partly because he had very little experience when it came to speaking of such things; but mostly, because he knew that it would break her spirit.

What little of her enchantment had remained untarnished by Lord Simmons, Garrett had endeavored to keep intact. Now, a sickly sensation flooded him, as the thief realized that he was to be responsible for more of its destruction.

"Good book?" Sophie called from the window, as she began watering the three flower pots.

She hadn't asked what exactly Gwenevere was growing in them, but from the odd leaves and discolored stems, she was beginning to wonder. The two that had already sprouted, had a strange texture to them. Smooth, and just a bit leathery.

Almost like human flesh.

Gwenevere looked up from her book, reaching across the table for the sugar bowl.

"Uh-huh!" She chirped, pouring almost half the bowl over her strawberries.  
Garrett was too distracted by his inner turmoil to notice and stop her, as the feisty nymph brought an extra spoonful of the sweet crystals to her lips.  
"Well that's good! Maybe now you won't be so bored," Sophie chuckled warmly. Garrett groaned, stretching his arms up over his head. Sophie smirked at the sight of him. The man rarely took his hood off in front of her, so it was a bit amusing to see his messy head of dark brown hair poking out in all directions. "And how about you, sleepyhead? What are you up to today?" The older woman faced him.

Garrett gave her a blank stare. Sophie's posture sank ever slightly.

"Okay then! Far be it from me to ask the plans of a declared grump."  
"I didn't sleep well last night Sophie. Lay off, will ya?" The thief growled, burying his head into his arm. Gwenevere looked up from her book again.  
"Garrett? Why didn't you say something?" She crooked her head, the sugar already beginning to bring out her inner spark.  
"What would be the point of that? To keep us both up?" Garrett grumbled, his tired voice muffled.  
"I suppose that would be kind of silly. But I wouldn't have been mad or anything! I like staying up with you Garrett." She giggled.  
"You're still hurt Gwenevere. You need as much sleep as you can grab." Weakly, the thief lifted his head from his arm. Turning his face to meet Sophie's, he gave her a stern look. "Make sure she stays in bed from now on. No more chores."  
"Hey, she told me she felt up for it! She's a grown woman Garrett; I'm not going to just command her to stay in bed if she feels healthy." Sophie huffed, crossing her arms.

Garrett groaned. He was in no mood to argue with her.

"I gotta go." He grunted, pushing himself up from the table.

Using a napkin as a bookmark, Gwenevere took one last bite of her breakfast, then scampered after him.

"Garrett wait!"

She managed to catch the thief, just as he finished fastening his knapsack around his waist.

Garrett looked down at her, noticing the glint of hyperactive joy within her eyes.

"Gwenevere?" He gave her a nonchalant look.  
"Garrett. I...I was thinking a lot about it at breakfast. And well...I think you should make up with Basso."

The thief quirked an eyebrow at her, his hazel eye alive with intrigue. Perhaps this was just the sugar talking. Or perhaps, his Gwenevere had grown bolder without him even noticing. Nevertheless, he decided to humor the injured girl.

"And why is that?" He frowned. "You don't even know what he did. What if I told you he did something awful. Would you still feel the same way?"  
"Yes." The nymph gave a sincere nod.  
"I don't understand. Why?"

Garrett was now genuinely curious. He examined her innocent face, wondering just what her answer would be. And Gwenevere gave him said answer almost instantaneously.

"Because, you once told me that Basso is the closest thing you've ever had to a friend. Do you really want to give up on your only friend Garrett?"

The thief scoffed at her response. Of course. He should have predicted that she'd give him such a fanciful reason.

"I said he was the closest thing I've ever had to a friend. I never said he was my friend Gwenevere. I have no need for friends." The thief snorted.

Gwenevere lurched forward, her fingers balling into a tight fist.

"He IS your friend! You know this!" She cried, hot determination coating her every word. Garrett sighed, reaching for his quiver.  
"Gwenevere-"  
"-you're lucky to have a friend. I don't...I don't have any friends anymore..."

The reality of her situation hit the little nymph like a tidal wave. Tears pricked their way past her eyelashes as she remembered what the Hammerites had done to Ayeena. Even if Keeper Mcclay had taken her back to his hideout, even if she managed to survive, how could she ever look at Gwenevere the same way again?  
_  
If I'd gotten to her sooner, then the Hammerites couldn't have broken her legs. If I'd never been taken from the forest, then maybe I could have been there to protect her._

Before she realized what was going on, Gwenevere felt something strong gently enshroud her. She was on her knees, quietly weeping, while the thief held her; preventing her from falling to the floor. After a few minutes, Garrett tucked his thumb and forefinger up under her chin, and gingerly brought up her face to meet his gaze.

"Gwenevere. What happened wasn't your fault. You have nothing to feel guilty over." Was all he said.

But it was enough.

***************************************************

Garrett stood outside of the dingy hovel, still unsure as to just why he had chosen to heed Gwenevere's advice. Perhaps it was the tugging unrest of her impending dismissal, or the way she had sobbed over the realization of her deep loneliness. Whatever the reason, the thief now found himself at Basso's front door.  
He inhaled a deep breath of forced courage, and brayed on the door.

There was a light scuffling from within, followed by a low buzz. A synthesized female voice then came from behind the wall.

"Basso is not available at the moment. Can I take a message?"

The thief quirked an eyebrow at that. He hadn't expected to hear anything mechanical coming from the boxman's dwelling, least of all a woman's voice.

"Open the door Basso!" Garrett demanded, a bit concerned.  
"I told you. Basso is not available." The voice responded, its tone unnaturally level for the amount of persistence within its words.

The thief took a step back from the door.

_Well, taff this..._ He thought, turning around. Basso obviously didn't want him around, and that was just fine by him. He proceeded to head back up the grungy stone steps, when the hovel door suddenly popped open with a squeak.

"Eh? Who's that then?" The middle-aged pauper called from the darkened entryway.

Before he even turned around, it was apparent to the thief, that Basso was barely awake.

"It's me." Garrett spoke, his back still facing away from the boxman. Basso rubbed the sleep from his eyes, and opened the door wider.  
"Garrett? What the hell are you doing here?"

With an audible sigh, the thief turned around.

"I came to talk to you." He managed, though his words were extremely forced. Basso crossed his arms.  
"Well I'm listening."

Garrett licked the roof of his mouth, trying to make sense of just why in the world he had listened to Gwenevere. Basso was clearly being stubborn, and in no mood to apologize. Even though the entire failure of the gold heist had been his fault.

"I came for my cut of the gold." The thief decided to just forget the entire apology, and instead talk business with his fence. Basso rolled his eyes.  
"Of course you did. That's all it's about for you, isn't it?" He griped. "Well, I haven't found a buyer for the bars yet, so yer just gonna have to wait."

Garrett's eyes flew open in shocked rage.

"What?! The heist was over a month ago now, and you STILL haven't sold off the bars yet?! You've become even more incompetent than before Basso. Even a neophyte thief knows you don't hold onto stolen items longer than you have to!"  
"Yeah, well I've been pretty damn busy, so taff off!" Basso shouted, and went to shut the door.

But Garrett's steel-toed boot caught between the frame, halting the attempt. The two men stared at each other through menacing eyes, each equally stubborn in their intent.

"I'm not leaving without my damned cut. So if you haven't sold the bars, give them to me and I'll do that myself." Garrett snarled.  
"Are you crazy? Even you couldn't carry that much Garrett!"  
"I'll manage." The thief snapped, motioning towards an unaccompanied wheelbarrow. "Make with the crates, now."  
"No!"  
"Basso, I swear..."

Garrett never got a chance to finish his sentence, because at that moment, the source of the odd female voice from before stepped into view. The thief gawked in dumbstruck horror at the golden robot girl, crafted in the image of a true abomination. Her teal eyes gleamed with unnatural light, as her neck craned to face him with a light buzz.

"Basso, who is this man? Is he causing you problems?" The HELEANABOT asked. Basso looked over his shoulder at her.  
"Yes dear. Maybe you can make him go away."  
"With pleasure, my dearest."

Garrett made a face.

"My dearest?!"  
"Yeah. She's my new lady," Basso puffed out his chest. "Ya got a problem with that?"

Taking the opportunity, Garrett kicked the door open and stormed inside.

"Where did you find that thing?" He eyed the robot with keen disgust.

He'd dealt with the real Heleana already, and once was enough. Garrett dreaded the thought of there being more than one of her kind around.

"None of yer business Garrett!" The boxman barked, starting to feel a bit uneasy.

That's when Garrett happened to notice the crates scattered around the dirty room. They were the same crates the two had used to load up the Hammerite gold.

But these were unbroken, and some were still filled with robotic parts.

The thief's veins began to pulse with hot fury.

"Is this toy the reason we ran out of crates that night?!" He demanded angrily. Basso's eyes widened.  
"She is NOT a toy!" Garrett glared at him, flabbergasted.  
"Come again?"  
"She, is my one chance at a relationship that no matter what I do, I can't possibly taff up. And you wanna go and take it from me!" Basso cried.

Garrett mouth gaped open in shock.

"For gods sake Basso! She's a machine! She can't feel, she can't think. She's a cold and unfeeling hunk of metal!"

The HELEANABOT faced him. Through the mess of cranking gears and fizzling wires, a slight fracture in her programming began to emerge. There had been many like her made. Created as a tribute to the last great Mechanist leader-the follower so devoted, that she willingly gave up her humanity for Father Karras. But no HELEANABOT had ever been, that would question its own existence-the way this one did now.

_Just a machine? Am I not...really Heleana? No! It cannot be!_

She glanced over at the bearded man standing in front of her. Protectively. He cared about her. Could anyone truly care for a simple hunk of metal like this?

_He rescued me. He cares for me. If I am merely a machine, then why do I aspire to return those feelings? Why do I hunger so badly to make him happy?_

While the HELEANABOT began to further contort and rebel against her programming, Basso stared up at the thief.

"Look Garrett! When you told me ye were beddin' a forest spirit-twice-I didn't do nothing ta stop ya. I wanted ya ta be happy, even if ya got sexed up and eaten. Yer a grown man who can put his life in peril fer a pretty face if ya so choose. And damn it, so am I!"

His words brought with them, an icy pang of discomfort for the thief. Basso, had lied to him. For the sake of this poorly crafted Mechanist atrocity. The boxman had put him into a position that Garrett could not begin to comprehend. They had been friends once, despite what he had told Gwenevere only hours earlier. Garrett had trusted Basso, confided in him. But that trust had been tarnished and put to waste, it would seem.

"You were supposed to do one thing that night-bring in the empty crates, so we could fill them with gold. Not only did you fill the majority of them with this _thing_, but you lied to me about it. I can't trust you anymore Basso."

A heavy feeling found Basso's chest as the unavoidable result of his actions became obvious. He looked up at the thief, unprepared for the painful betrayal burning past his bi-colored gaze. He'd thought that they had it figured out. That they would remain friends for life. But now, it seemed he'd destroyed any hope of that.

"Garrett...I'm sorry, alright? I've been alone for so long-ever since Jenivere left. If I thought you'd understand, I would have told you-"  
"-You know what? It doesn't matter anymore," Garrett threw up his arms, and started for the door. "I should have no trouble finding a new fence. Have fun with your new toy Basso. It's nice to finally see where your real priorities lie."  
"Garrett, wait just a second-"

Basso reached out for his mate, but to no avail, as the thief abruptly slammed the door in his face.


	50. Chapter 50

Taking a shortcut through the balmy streets, Garrett progressed across Stonemarket with very little trouble. The watch were more numerous during daylight hours, but there were also far more city-goers flooding the streets. The Master Thief sulked deep amidst the crowd of travelling peddlers, and depressed faces; taking advantage of the huddled masses by snagging a few coin purses that happened to come too close to his greedy fingers.

Eventually, he reached the poorest part of the neighborhood. The cobblestone streets here were untended, the roads filled with garbage and numerous potholes. Even the tenacious bluecoats rarely came this far out, and for good reason.

The crime lords, ruled this place.

However, since Basso had made his priorities known, this was now a mandatory stop for the thief. For it was here, that an old contact, perhaps his oldest contact, resided. Garrett stopped just outside of a ransacked apartment building. Beside the entryway, stood a hired gate guard who looked more like a brutish bandit than any bluecoat.

"Oi mate! Who ya wanna see 'ere, an what business have ya gots, eh?"

A mischievous smirk grew within the shadows of the thief's hood.

"Not today Charlie. I've got some business for the Collector, so let me in!"

Garrett was in no mood for this brute, or his 'so-called' intimidation tactics. Charlie knew perfectly well who Garrett was-but for whatever reason, he always pretended not to.

"Oh, yeah. I know ya..." the brute suddenly let his façade fade. "Time is money, so whudduyu got?"

Garrett gave a reluctant groan. Fishing within his knapsack, the thief withdrew one of the purses he'd snatched up in Stonemarket. Opening it, he allowed the gatekeeper to see the copious amount of gold it contained.

"Haha! Now, that's more like it!" Charlie grinned, taking hold of the sack. His eyes glistened with avarice, as he began thumbing through the bulging sack. "After all, I'm the type-a guy you shows respect to, if ya wanna-"

He never had a chance to finish his sentence, as a hard thud found the back of his distracted skull.  
As Charlie collapsed, Garrett grabbed up both the key and his gold-including the brute's own personal sack of loot.

"I always hated that guy." The thief grumbled, and briskly unlocked the apartment building.

*********************************************************

Once he'd reached the top level, Garrett could hear the soft sound of wind whistling through creaky boards. The sounds of loud hissing could also be heard, as the thief began to pound on the door.

"Hey, it's me!" Cupping his ear to the door, Garrett began to listen for his contact.

Another hissing sound could be heard, followed by a man's shouting.

"I've told ya before Ingrid; don't just leave yer skins lying all over the rug!"  
"Hey, open up Monty!" The thief hollered again, knowing that the weathered fellow was hard of hearing.

There were then numerous clicks and clacks of dead bolts and old chains, but eventually, the door popped open. A waft of unnatural clamminess, followed by many unrecognizable stenches then wafted through the doorway. Almost as if it hadn't been opened in years. Garrett stepped back, noticing the greasy oil lamps dimly illuminating the jumbled interior of the place. Bamboo bird cages hung from creaky rusty chains which were bolted to the ceiling, and the entire area was filled with dusty objects from another time; like an antique shop, which had gone out of business centuries ago.

"Eh? Who's there? What'chu want?" A pair of greying blue eyes thick with wrinkles peered out from the musty shadows.

They widened almost unnaturally at the sight of the unexpected visitor.

"Garrett? Kiddo? Is that you?"  
"Long time no see, old man. Surprised you remembered me after all these years. Also, surprised this place hasn't fallen in on itself."

"Heh-heh...well...we manage, we manage." The old man wheezed and coughed, before weakly stepping aside and shakily motioning for the thief. "But c'mon now kid! Course I remember ya! Weren't never a quick fingered taffer I could forget. You especially, hold a colorful place in my withered husk of a heart."  
"Monty, I'd really appreciate it if you didn't refer to me as a kid anymore. I'm not exactly the young punk I used to be." Garrett groused.  
"Ahh, yes. I still remember you, back then. With your shaved head, and that damned creepy hand of glory of yers."  
"Don't bring that up. I was young and stupid." Garrett crossed his arms.  
"Yeah, weren't we all, weren't we all..." The old man's eyes grew glassy, but he quickly shook the emotional memories away. He turned around and began to maneuver through the cluttered mess. "Well come on in! Make yerself at home! Ya want something to drink, or perhaps some candy or whatever?"  
"I didn't exactly come to you for refreshments Monty." Garrett took a seat upon the dusty couch. "Let's get straight to business, old man...my old fence went soft on me. I need a new outsource."

The Collector wheezed, and pulled his bony frame into a sunken armchair.

"I'd love ta help ya, Garry. But I haven't been involved in the whole criminal scene since '94. You know that. I retired right before Karras went and industrialized the place. Damn Mechanists and their pollution. No regard what so ever for the little guy."

Casually, a large snake lifted its head up from under Monty's chair. It was albino, her small, ruby red eyes stared directly at Garrett as she kissed the stale air with her tongue. The thief was dumbfounded, his body freezing in utter shock. He blinked a few times and backed his form deeper into the couch. Taking notice of the snake, the old man smiled.

"Ingrid, you see? When you come out unannounced like that, you scare people dear."  
"I'm...not afraid of your pet, Monty." Garrett griped.  
"Oh. Well, that's nice. Why don't you come over here and say hello then?" The old man grinned, knowing full well how much the thief despised any sort of reptile.  
"I'm not much of an animal person."  
"Ah, now you've gone and hurt her feelings." Monty frowned. Garrett remained stoic, never taking his eyes off of the large ball python. "Anyways, I don't think you two have met. You see, around the time I left the underworld scene, I happened to find Ingid. She'd slithered up through my air vent, seeking shelter from the bitter cold. Ya see, it was a particularly nippy Spring that year, and-"  
"Monty? Are you gonna help me or not?" The thief interrupted.  
"Keh...at least let an old timer like me finish his story, won't ya?"  
"I really don't have time..."  
"Aww, nonsense! 'Course ya do!" Monty chortled. "Now, ya see, I always wondered what a beautiful specimen of a snake was doin' in The City. A pet, I thought. But then, it dawned on me! Those damned Mechanists done so much damage to the trees and forests, that she and her kind must've been driven from their homes! How horrible is that?"  
"Yeah, we all know how nuts the Mechanists were. Can you please just answer my question?" Garrett shifted his position again, as Ingrid slithered closer to his boots.  
"Well, at least their last leader Heleana seems to have fallen off the grid. Now, I ain't much for them Pagans, but I'll take their kind over Mechanists any day!" The old man continued to rave.  
"Monty..."  
"Oh! Oh right!" Monty shook his head in embarrassment. "You asked me about a new fence, that's right!"  
"Yeah."  
"Okay, let me think..." The old man bit his lip. Garrett rolled his eyes.  
"Hmmm, well I think some of the veterans of the business are still around. Big Bertha's still up an' running. Ooh! And Sweet Missy Marla's right next door-remember her?"  
"Yes, unfortunately..." The thief groaned.  
"Ahh, yeah. She really was sweet on you, I'll tell ya..."

The old man leaned back in his chair, still stroking Ingid's smooth skin. Garrett looked around the room, the awkward silence only adding to his frustration. The place was positively packed with strange objects. There was certainly a good reason Monty had earned the nickname, 'The Collector'.

"You ever meet someone worth hangin' onto?" The Collector's words caught Garrett off-guard.

He stared pensively at the elder, Gwenevere's smile resonating within his flustered mind.

"As a matter of fact, I did."  
The Collector suddenly grew wide-eyed.  
"Oh my! That's wonderful news Garry!"  
"Please don't call me that." The thief groaned.  
"Well, what's her name?" The old man smiled expectantly.  
"Gwenevere."  
"Such a pretty name! She sounds expensive."  
"She's NOT a prostitute Monty!" Garrett bristled. "If she was, how the hell could I hold onto her?!"  
"Oh-ho! No need to get so defensive, boy! I was only kidden!" The old man chuckled, pleased that he could still irk the thief in such a way. "Well good for you Garrett. Good for you."  
"Thanks, I guess. So you genuinely can't help me?"  
"Not in terms of fencing, but...if you ever find yourself in need of certain tools, I would be willing to trade you for certain rarities. So, anything you need from me now, Garry?"

The thief pondered this offer for a moment. There was one thing.

"I'll take one of those Deep Forest compasses off of you...I know you have dozens of those things lying around for some reason, and I know that you have deals with some antique dealer in Auledale to get more." Garrett reasoned. "After all, you sent me out to deliver cases of them when I was helping you...though you never told me what the big obsession was. So here's a purse of coin that's much more than I KNOW you spent on the trinkets."

The Collector went red in the face, and was instantly on his feet.

"I will not! I do have several Deep Forest compasses, but I will not give them up without a satisfactory trade. You know how I do things, Garrett! You must give me something of more value than just common coin...for money is useless in the eyes of stark wonder and untapped mystery. So, what items do you have to trade for..." the old man turned, and fumbled through a heap of papers and baubles, "this!"

Garrett released a heavy sigh. Monty smiled a sly grin.

"I will not take in coin what I can take in barter...for that is my way young man." The thief gave him a blank stare.

_He's mad...not taking coin...no coin?!_

Garrett needed this compass. Not for himself, but rather as a parting gift to his most treasured apprentice. Some part of him knew, that Gwenevere would be not only upset by his decision-but rather furious. If she was going to break away from him, if she was going to rebel, Garrett wanted her to have a way to return to his side one day.

Turning towards The Collector, he grew bold.

"You must have something on your mind, so out with it. What do you want from me?"

The Collector grabbed a cup of a dark liquid from the table, drank it down, then pointed to Garrett's side.

"Now that, would be an acceptable trade my young man."  
"Do you mean this?" He gaped, taking his blackjack out nervously.  
"No." The Collector responded.  
"Then my cloak? That's too strange..."

Monty sighed in frustration.

"No."  
"Get to the point old man!" Garrett angrily barked.  
"That!" The collector pointed directly at the thief's personal coin purse. "I crave that fine leather...the material and workmanship is exquisite!"  
"Damn..." Garrett muttered.

His fingers ran across the velvety smoothness of the black leather. He'd had this purse for decades. It had been the first object he'd ever purchased, after leaving the Keepers. He absolutely adored that purse. But, he adored Gwenevere even more.

"Okay then..." He grunted, and begrudgingly emptied the contents of his coin purse into his palm.

The Collector's eyes lit up as he took the purse from the disgruntled rogue.

"I have been eyeing that piece since you approached me for jobs that first time so long ago. But I couldn't just ask you for it...that's not my way, you see..." Monty beamed.

He placed the compass into the thief's awaiting hand, feeling it quiver.

"Take care of her; that's a rare little gem right there." He winked, knowingly. "And I don't mean the compass."

Garrett said nothing. He quickly stepped over the snake, and stomped out of the dilapidated dwelling. It was time to pay Marla a visit, though the thief really didn't want to. But he was going to need a well-stocked inventory for his next heist.

Mystic Manor.


	51. Chapter 51

**_SIMMONS FAMILY MANOR  
SIXTEEN YEARS AGO:_**

_The doorbell rang mere hours before dawn, the eerie sound resonating throughout the Simmons family manor. Barely awake, the master of the house begrudgingly rose from his bed._

_"Richard! Damn it, where the hell is he?" He groaned, fumbling to put on his robes. "Richard! Get the bloody door!"_

_Moments later, the double doors to Simmons' bedchambers flung open, temporarily blinding him with a burst of sheer hall light. The lord squinted, the panting form of his bodyguard swimming into focus._

_"My lord! There is a member of the Hand Brotherhood at the door!"  
"What?!"_

_Simmons' brows furrowed, his eyes dilated and bloodshot. Legs still wobbly, he tripped over the large bukhara rug on his way out the door. Lady Simmons remained motionless in the bed, though she was very much awake. She released a hateful hiss as her husband exited the room._

_It would seem that his sacrificial lamb, was causing trouble again._

_Once he'd reached the entrance of his mansion, Simmons was awash with nervous sweat. Still panting, he looked at the two guards stationed on either side of the monolithic bronze doorframe._

_"Open it." He commanded, though his eyes never left the doors themselves._

_The two grunted and struggled to pry the structures open, Simmons leering through the growing icy breach of darkness. Eventually, he could see five hooded figures, and a red-haired child chained in enchanted shackles. She held her head close to her chest, her cinnabar hair still damp with rain and tears. An outsider would never have guessed such brutish restraints necessary for such a frail little girl._

_They would be horribly mistaken._

_"You mages weren't supposed to bring her back until she'd been tamed!" Simmons bellowed, refusing to take the chains as they were handed to him. "It's only been a few months! Surely that's too soon to return her to me."_

_One of the mages stepped forward. He was taller than the others, and his robes smelled of raw nature._

_"The Earth Mages have done all that they can, to hone her abilities. She has learned a few basic bind and light spells."  
"As I suspected. So why did you bring her back?"  
"A problem was encountered tonight. She grew unruly, after the incident with the Fire Mages. Now, she refuses to listen to any of us."  
"Then make her." The lord sneered, his teeth firmly clenched.  
"Pah! Typical for a non-magical being to request that which he cannot even grasp!" The lead mage spat. "The child may be only half nymph, and usually, yes. We could have domesticated her, and taught her powerful magic. But what you neglected to inform us about, was the nature of her other parent."_

_Simmons face grew somber with knowing silence._

_"I thought your brotherhood boasted utmost talent." The sly lord countered.  
"There is a limit. For even with all our magic, in the face of a world spirit, we are but mortal men. You have placed us all in an unexpected, and downright perilous position."  
"Damn right I have!" Simmons threatened._

_The lead mage turned his head upwards, and his eyes of lucid lightning tore from the shadows that concealed his face. The lord took a slightly intimidated step backwards._

_"The Earth Mages have taught her to the extent of our abilities, but this child is far too powerful. Furthermore, there is a deep budding hate writhing within her. You must find a way to curb her vicious tendencies, or you shan't survive."  
"How the hell am I supposed to do that?!" Simmons demanded, furious. "I paid you reclusive freaks to tame her, and I refuse to take her back until then!"_

_A large coinpurse landed with a thunk at the lord's feet. He glared up at the lead mage, who wore a look of solemn intent._

_"Then take back your coin, for no amount of bribery could convince us to willingly keep this abomination within our midst."  
"Then what, pray tell, am I supposed to do?!"_

_The mages were silent for several moments, talking amongst one another through the art of telepathy. Finally, the lead mage removed his hood. His head was bald, adorned with several arcane symbols and deep cuts. Some of them, appeared very fresh. But what caused Simmons to recoil in utmost horror, was the mages face. It had been burned vertically down to the bone._

_"Did you know she can use acidic attacks? After seeing the Fire Mages perform their rituals, she grew ballistic, and transformed into a green hell beast. Then, like some sort of carnivorous plant, she spewed liquid fire into my face."_

_Simmons recoiled from the ghastly sight, wanting more than ever before to simply return to his bed. Sensing his tribulation, the wizened sorcerer held up a gnarled hand._

_"There is...a way to control her. But finding that relic will be near impossible."  
"Go on, tell me!" Simmons demanded, nearly desperate. He was beginning to strongly regret ever taking this child from her people._

_But then again, what he strove for was well worth any of the trouble and peril she posed. Her tribe had scattered following the onslaught, and her mother was dead. So long as he could find a way to contain her wretched power, there would be nothing to stop him from achieving a truly glorious prize. All he had to do, was wait for her to mature-then harvest her life juices for his own desires._

_"Deep within the Pagan forest, there are said to be two great rubies. They were once used in only the most powerful of ceremonies, and are said to contain a faint essence of the child's...forebear. If you could find even one of these rubies, you would hold complete and total domination over this...girl."_

_Gwenevere's eyes flew open at the very mention of the precious stones. The Trickster's Perception, and The Trickster's Foresight: Either of these two sister stones would be enough to render her helpless and subservient. Such had been the written plan from the very dawn of existence._

_The Woodsie Lord was ruler of all; and no other forest creature could possibly hope to challenge his power._

_The girl slowly glared up at Simmons, helpless to run or even cry within these tight bonds. Meeting her terrified gaze, the lord's deep frown began to contort. The little nymph's blood chilled, as a distorted grin spread wide across his face._

_"Then we must find one of these stones at once."_

************************************************************

**STONEMARKET PROPER  
PRESENT DAY:**

The little bell over the doorway chimed once as the Master Thief entered the dimly lit establishment. There was a woman behind the counter, her strawberry blonde hair catching and teasing the reflections of candlelight. Her dark eyes sparkled with both admiration and lust. Even though he hadn't seen her in almost fifteen years, she hadn't aged too badly. A bit more curvy than he remembered, but her girly beauty and joy was still very much intact.

"Why Garrett! Wow, just wow! I never thought I'd see _you _again!" Marla squealed, running her finger over one of the flash bombs on display.

As usual, the thief said nothing in return, preferring to browse her wares from a distance. He began to inspect the various objects with a discerning eye. The problem was, Garrett had absolutely no idea what sort of tools to buy. What manner of peril would he be facing within this Mystic Manor?

"So, how have you been? I got married three years ago, and now I've got a couple of tots running around. Haha, to think I used to fantasize about having all that with you." She teased. Garrett looked up at that little comment, a bit unnerved.  
"That's...a bit more than I ever needed to know, Marla." He grunted.  
"Oh, pshaw! I have no reason to keep it a secret." She purred in her usual, suggestive voice. "So, how about you? How's the last fifteen years treated Mr. Master Thief? How's that little girl you took in? Ellen, was it?" She pouted her lips into a coy, playful smirk.  
"Erin." He corrected.  
"Ah, sorry! I've always been such a scatterbrain with names, ya know?"  
"That's not the only part of your brain that's been scattered, Marla." The thief grumbled under his breath.

Garrett's latest quip caused the shopkeeper to giggle uncontrollably.

"Oh Garrett! You're so adorable when you get grouchy!"

The thief gave her a slightly uncomfortable look. He had always found Marla's fangirl obsession with him obnoxious, to say the least. Garrett shook his head, and silently resumed his perusal of her goods. He'd discovered over the years, that he would get out of her shop quicker if he kept his mouth shut.

****************************************************

Gwenevere was halfway through the third chapter of her book when the knob to her bedroom slowly turned. Garrett walked in, along with the newly purchased tools he'd obtained for the evening's heist.

"Oh! You're finally back!" The young woman chirped, putting down her book. "What took you so long?"  
"Business." The thief muttered.  
"Ah."

Garrett stared longingly at her, his long fingers tapping against the compass in his pocket. Pictures began to form within his mind like a myriad of tiny threads, weaving together into conscious thought. He thought of how far she had come in her devotion to him and his teachings. The thief could still recall how clumsy she was, when Basso had first paid him to train her. How he initially thought she was just another thrill-seeking, upstart kid.

He couldn't have been more blind to her true intentions.

Garrett still remembered how emotional she had gotten, when the little nymph had finally told him just why she desired so badly to learn to steal. Most, if not all of his fellow thieves were driven by two things-desperation, and/or, greed. While she had indeed been desperate when she came to him, the girl had never been greedy. Her eyes perceived even those most valued of treasures as little more than pretty rocks. Mere trinkets, which had the untapped potential to banish hunger and cold for those she could give them to.

It made his stomach twist with discomfort still; the thought of telling her that those dreams were now finished. Her thief training, had come to naught.

_But what choice to I have? She's NOT thief material. She's gonna get herself killed._

"Hey Garrett? So where _are_ you going tonight?" The young woman craned her head to the side with intrigue.

The thief shot her a worried glare.

"Some old mansion."

His words bothered Gwenevere. Even when they had been less than keen on one another, Garrett had never been so vague when it came to his work. If anything, she got the impression that he enjoyed talking about it. Boasting in his own right, about how difficult the next job would be. It was extremely strange for Garrett to be so secretive about such matters.

Biting her bottom lip, the young woman slid the color contact out of her eye.

"Is that so?" She began, as the wood beast eye began to traverse the corners of his person.

There was another reason why Gwenevere kept that horrible eye hidden from view. The girl didn't like to pry into other people's affairs. For the most part, she both adored and respected humankind. The wood beast eye, was the last and permanent link to her forsaken blood. The eye of the goddess she would never become. And as such, it could penetrate the hearts of men-and see the deepest truths reserved for only a deity's mind.

She chose to decipher such truths now, though it pained her to circumvent her thief so. But her primitive curiosity prevailed. He was hiding something from her, and she just had to find out what it was. As she began to search his thoughts, the thief recalled what his newest contact, Asteriah had mentioned. About Gwenevere knowing a thing or two about the mage mansion.

"Gwenevere. This might sound strange, but do you have any connection to a place called Mystic Manor?"

The moment he asked that, Gwenevere's heart was flooded with guilt. Perhaps, he had planned on telling her after all; and she had so deviously invaded his privacy.

"I-ummm...yes..." She murmured, ashamed. Gwenevere replaced her contact, before he had a chance to see her devilish optic."I studied there for a little while when I was small. It was sort of like my, finishing school, I guess you could say."

Garrett quirked an eyebrow at that, and seconds later, a light scoff left his lips.

"Really? That was your so-called, finishing school? Huh, I always pictured you in one of those 'posh and pretty' girl's boarding houses."  
"Are you kidding? Simmons would never have let me mingle with real human girls like that!" Gwenevere chuckled at the absurd suggestion, before a sudden long frown found her face. "He always treated me like a monster. A hideous beast that needed to remain in a cage."

Garrett emitted a deep and troubled sigh, a worried frown appearing upon his weathered face.

"Gwenevere, that's..."The thief exhaled a defeated sigh, knowing that there wasn't a word strong enough to describe the cruelty she had endured as a child.

Gwenevere's eyes widened as she noticed the tragic expression upon his face.

"Garrett?"

The thief glared down at the nymph, his eyes burning with both danger and protection. He sat down beside her on the bed, and wrapped a strong arm across her shoulder.

"Regardless, you never have to go through anything like that ever again." She looked up at him with doe-like eyes, full of endless sorrow.

"He just hurt me so badly, and in ways I never _knew_ you could hurt someone." The little nymph shivered. "Garrett, can I tell you a secret?"

The thief must have looked at her in a strange way, because Gwenevere immediately blushed and turned her head away from his gaze. It wasn't that Garrett couldn't keep a secret; he was actually quite good at that. He had just never expected her to bestow him with one.

"Sure, go ahead." He offered.  
"I'm...I'm afraid of fire. More than just about anything else Garrett." She sighed, as if her fear was completely shameful. The thief looked at her.  
"You are? But then why were you so calm when the clocktower was burning?"  
"Because...I knew I couldn't panic. You were there, and I...I thought if I showed such a silly fear, you wouldn't let me train under you anymore..."

Her words, flayed his heart with merciless savagery. Garrett winced, squeezing the compass within his pocket even harder. Her farewell present. He could feel the metal around the edges begin to puncture his hand, but at that moment, he was less than inclined to care. A nauseating thought began to seep into his head.  
By releasing her from this apprenticeship, Garrett would be protecting her, possibly saving her life. Yet, by dashing her hopes in such a callous way, he would also be hurting her, and possibly losing her.

Then, all of his senses grew frigid.

He was already going to lose her either way. The seeds were growing at an alarming rate, and it would be Autumn soon. Choking back the pure agony of her upcoming departure, the thief faced her with an intense expression.

"Gwenevere, no. I would never do that to you. The only way I would ever release you from my teachings-" He hesitated when he heard her gulp. Looking down at her, the thief was unnerved by the great amount of distress his unfinished sentence had already caused. "-that isn't important. Everyone has something that disturbs them, and a good thief fights through his or her discomfort until the job at hand is complete. A good thief, does what they have to. You kept your composure that night, and for that, I am extremely proud of you Gwenevere." He managed a warm smile.

Relieved, Gwenevere smiled back.

"The Hand Brotherhood refused to train me, after I attacked one of their fire mages. He scared me, and I just lost it. My mentor tried to protect him from my attack, and so I ended up hurting someone I had deep respect for. He never smiled at me after that, the way you do Garrett. He treated me like a monster after that, just like Simmons." She concluded her tale, just as a lump began to grow inside her quivering throat.

Then Gwenevere looked up at Garrett again, expectantly, as well as a little desperate.

"Is something wrong?" The thief inquired, noticing this.

She hesitated, staring deeply into the bi-colored eyes of her most trusted mentor. Garrett frowned.

"Gwenevere? Are you in pain?"

"No. It's not about that." She replied in a shy, hesitant voice.

"Well then, what is it?"

Despite the pain it caused her, Gwenevere lurched forward and embraced him. Garrett tensed, unsure why she was hugging him like this. Then, the little nymph did the unexpected. Eyes glassy and wide, she clasped her hands together, pleading up to him like a small orphaned child in need of a handout.

"Garrett! I know this is sudden, but...please give me a name! You did it for Pilfur; please Garrett...I-I want you to name me..." She sobbed. "If I'm going to assume a new identity, I _need_ one...and Gwenevere isn't my real name anyway! That Simmons gave it to me, and I meant _nothing_ to him! I want to be gifted a name that matters; from someone who loves and treasures me! A name that I can cherish until the end of my days!"

Tears slid down her cheeks as she held her position, her body trembling from a mixture of desperation and pain.

Garrett's pupil dilated, his metallic eye buzzing as it whirred to form a thin slit. He gaped at Gwenevere, almost struck with disbelief by what she had just requested of him. How spontaneous and desperate this all was.

"I don't need to name you. I know who you are." He reasoned with an air of genuine kindness.  
"But...I don't..." Gwenevere continued to cry.

Garrett faced her, and placed both of his arms around her shoulders. He pressed his forehead into hers, feeling as his hood slipped off. She shuddered, a bit unsure of this new position, and the intense closeness and trust it caused her to feel. She felt...almost one with Garrett now. As if they were sharing the same space; the same mind.

"That's why we're going to find out, Gwenevere." He spoke in a hushed, gravely whisper. "One day, I'll get you your answer...I swear it..."


	52. Chapter 52

**_SIMMONS FAMILY MANOR  
SIXTEEN YEARS AGO:  
_**  
_"Then we must find one of these stones at once." Lord Vladimir Simmons declared. Then, as quickly as it had appeared, his cruel smile melted. "But what am I to do with her until then?"_

_From around the corner, one of the families maids, stepped from the shadows. She had been listening, but even before tonight she had known all. For it was her business to know._

_"My Lord Simmons? If I may offer my services to you, I would be honored to look after the girl."_

_Simmons spun around, enraged to be caught off-guard by one of his staff. Until he saw that it was only Olaura. She was easily the oldest member of the Simmons family staff, and posed little threat to him. Even if she did know._

_"What could you possibly do? She's...a handful." He spoke with hushed dread. Olaura laughed, clearly unfazed.  
"Of course! Why else do you suspect that none of the other maids will go near her without your force?" She countered, a challenging look glinting within her fading eyes._

_Simmons stared at her for awhile, before tugging free the chains from the lead mage. Gwenevere yelped as she was unexpectedly yanked forwards, and she nearly fell flat on her face._

_"Here. Watch her. Never, and I mean NEVER...allow her to leave her bedchambers, until my men have retrieved one of those rubies. Is that clear, Olaura?" He snarled, giving her a menacing look._

_The older maid looked down at the fearful child. Her eyes were as wide as plates, and trembled with tears. Just looking into her caused Olaura to tremble also. This was positively disgusting. Even if she was a creature of unspeakable magic, dangerous and even deadly in the most unfortunate of cases; she was still just a little girl._

_A mortified, four year old kidnap victim._

_"Yes sir." Olaura croaked, Gwenevere's quivering form causing her to feel sick. "May I please request the key to her confines?"_

_Simmons broke into wicked laugher._

_"Are you insane woman?! That, 'thing' melted a veteran mages' face just hours ago! No, she stays locked in those chains until my men retrieve the bloody stone! I will not be the next to experience her wrath!"_

_Olaura gasped, watching as the little girl began to shake even more._

_"Yes sir." She replied briskly, then started away with the girl._

_Once back inside her bedchambers, the maid locked the door, and turned to the Woodsie child. Gwenevere shivered again, her pupils now fully contracted. Moonlight danced within those black pools, as Olaura reached out for her chains. A soft warm glow began to emanate from the maid's palms, and the chains gradually loosened around the child._

_Gwenevere gasped as they dropped to her feet. She looked up at Olaura, who was now fully concentrating on the last of her spell. Once she had finished, she gently reached out and patted Gwenevere on the head. The little girl shied away from her touch, afraid of being struck or slapped again-as she had been so many times since coming here._

_As a result, only the maids fingers made contact with the child's hair. It was extremely soft, like a combination of moss and baby rabbit fur. Gwenevere looked up, still very afraid, but also curious as to why this person had touched her gently._

_"Be still, child," the older woman crooned, "no one else shall ever harm you again-not on my watch."  
"Whysie you bes helpers me?" The toddler peeped, almost afraid of her own voice.  
"Because you need help, dear. That much is clear to us all, even if I'm the only servant here with the gall to actually do anything about it." There was an air of dissatisfaction in her words, as well as a deep unrest.  
"I wantsies to return to the woodsies. I bes afraids here..." The child whimpered uncontrollably._

_Olaura, went to hold her again, and this time Gwenevere did not resist. When she felt the soft comfort of the embrace, and smelled her floral perfume, the little girl was eased into silence. She buried her face into her savior's chest, and began to sob uncontrollably._

_"There, there little deer. I'll get you through this...somehow." The maid gently tapped Gwenevere's shoulder. The child looked up with a deep longing, her eyes glistening like shattered diamonds. "I have cast an enchantment on you, so that you will always appear chained, should anyone come to check on us. Just plop down onto the floor, remain still, and the illusion will hold true." Olaura explained.  
"Who bes yous?" The little girl questioned, absolutely fascinated by this new, unheard of magic her savior possessed. The maid smiled.  
"Some would call me a sympathizer to your people, others would brand me a heretic. I am a Grower by religion."  
"A Grower?" Gwenevere asked, the new sound making her mouth tingle.  
"I know you. We, know you. Jeramiah Landon has told us all about you. The Last Mother, our last hope. Now that both your father and mother have departed to The Green, you are all we have left to trust in for a pure future."  
"I bes not understandings yous." Gwenevere began to chew her long hair, as she often did when she was nervous. Olaura released a merry chuckle.  
"You shall, one day. But for now, I promise I will teach you everything I can. Your powers must grow for Simmons' horrible plans-but they must also grow, if you ever wish to escape from him!"_

_Gwenevere stood upright, a feeling of hope flooding her heart for the first time since coming to this terrible place._

_"Escapers? But...how?"_

_The older maid clutched the little girl's quaking hands, and locked eyes with her._

_"I will teach you."  
_

*********************************************************************  
**THE CRIPPLED BURRICK  
PRESENT DAY:  
**  
"I don't get it Garrett, what are we doing here?"

Gwenevere gazed upwards at her hooded mentor, his eyes both figuratively and mechanically locked into a state of observing the crowded room. She honestly had no idea why they had come here, especially since he and the boxman were still arguing. Thick smoke teased and mingled with the smell of burning stew, and the drunken laugher and upbeat folksongs were nearly causing the antisocial man to recoil. Garrett directed his vision down into the whimsical wideness of her celadon eyes.

To be completely truthful, the thief was asking himself the same question.

Only for Gwenevere.

A week had passed since his visit to the Collector and Marla, and the nymph was finally healed enough to leave Sophie's safehouse. Garrett would have preferred that she rest for a few more days, but he didn't have that sort of time in reality. Asteriah was expecting those elements, whatever they were, and he planned on departing for the mages mansion towards the end of Summer.

He ground his teeth, knowing that even a month wouldn't be enough time. Now that she was healed, he knew Gwenevere would insist on coming with him to Mystic Manor-and so the thief planned on sneaking out the night of the job. It would be easy, as for a woodland creature, Gwenevere had never been particularly attuned to her surroundings.

Tonight, would be the beginning of a very different sort of training.

The thief absolutely, hated, going out in public-even into the lower slums, where bluecoats were rare, and very few civilians took issue with his presence. Basso practically knew everyone down here, as did his sister. But danger wasn't Garrett's issue. It was a simple matter of discomfort.

The thief wasn't like Basso or Sophie. He didn't put on a façade to the world in order to gain their trust, or remain undetected by the law. Garrett was a proud and blatant individual, who found both flattery and social interaction equally nauseating. If Gwenevere wasn't completely alien to this place, he would never have taken her down here. Never forced himself into such awkward situations amongst others.

But he had to.

Garrett wanted this to be _his _responsibility. _He_ wanted to be the one to teach the girl to survive down here. The vision of Gwenevere half-starved, and living in filth was forever burned into his mind. That entire scenario, had been his fault. Because he had dismissed her far too quickly.

_Not this time._

"We're here to eat, Gwenevere." He muttered gruffly, as if the words were somehow refusing to be spoken. The little nymph seemed utterly perplexed by his response.  
"But we've never eaten at a place like this before."  
"I know."

Gwenevere surveyed the crowded tavern, until she noticed Sophie. She was dressed somewhat differently than Gwenevere was used to, as the nymph had never seen her work apparel. Billowing loose sleeves hung from both of her arms, accenting the freckles upon her bony shoulders, and a long green apron was tied tight around her curvaceous waist. Her hair was still crumpled into a messy bun, though tired strands of fading brown clung down the sides of her face. She appeared very tired.

Tired, yet jolly.

Gwenevere watched as a young couple generously tipped Sophie, and as they stood up from their chairs to exit the establishment, the older woman at last caught sight of the thief and his nymph. Sophie nearly dropped the empty flagons she was holding, but composed herself enough to set them down onto the table, rattling. A wide smile soon replaced all uncertainty, as the boxman's sister skipped over to Gwenevere.

"My girl's here!" She shrieked, embracing Gwenevere's head against her bosoms. Then she took a step back, and lovingly kissed the nymph on the cheek. "I bet it's great to be out again, huh?"  
"Oh yes! I can't believe I actually get to eat here tonight! It's so exciting." Gwenevere squealed, prompting Sophie to glance up at Garrett.  
"So wait...you two are actually _staying_? Not here to see Basso, but _eating_?"  
"I'm teaching her Sophie." Garrett groused, subconsciously looking around the choked area for any sign of the boxman. He didn't want to accidently run into Basso.  
"Well, between you and me, you could find a better place to 'educate' the girl on City cuisine Garrett." Sophie winked, clearly misunderstanding the reason for their visit. "This is hardly the place to take a lady. The atmosphere's far from romantic, and other than the stew, everything's either overcooked or alcoholic."  
"We're not here for the food." The thief snapped.

Gwenevere shot upright.

"We're not?! But I'm huuuungery!" She whined. Garrett gave her a scornful glare. It was the sort of look that a shepherd would give a disobedient pup.

Mutually, they understood it as, 'stop'.

"I'm teaching her how to survive down here; regular day-to-day stuff." The thief explained. "Which brings me to another thing, Sophie." Garrett briskly tapped Gwenevere's behind, causing the girl to yip and jump forward. She looked back up at him, but his eyes were still fixated on Sophie. "Any chance you can get this one a job?"  
"A job? Doing what? I'm not so sure you'd want that for her Garrett." Sophie cautioned. "Unless you're fine with all the drunk pigs in here constantly taking a grab at her womanly bits."

The thief seized up uncomfortably at that, although it was clear that Gwenevere had no idea what Sophie was implying. The thief doubted she even knew what 'womanly bits' referred to.

"Forget it then." He spoke sharply.  
"What?! But I would love to work with Sophie!" Gwenevere argued, clutching her fists to her chest, her back slightly hunched.  
"Oh, no. You really wouldn't want to, sweetie. It's an awfully stressful job." Sophie laughed, trying to dissuade her.  
"Sophie! Get yer ass back ta work!" A gruff older man hollered from across the tavern.

Sophie looked over her shoulder and nodded at him.

"Right away sir!" She then smiled down at Gwenevere and muttered, "See what I mean? You don't want all that."  
"But I could keep you company Sophie! Maybe I could even make your job more fun!" Gwenevere offered.

Garrett silently grinned at that. A nymph working as a bar wench? There was absolutely no possible way that wouldn't get interesting, albeit for all the wrong reasons.

"I'll think about it hun," Sophie scurried away and grabbed up the discarded flagons from the table, "have a great evening, you two."

She then walked off into the crowd, a few patrons hooting as she passed. Gwenevere looked up at Garrett again, eyes wide with yearning.

"Garrett! I wanna work here! Just like back in Nethalzia, at the bistro!" She begged.

Garrett sighed as he begrudgingly sat down within a recently vacated booth. He could still smell tobacco smoke from the last patron. He patted the wooden plank, motioning for the girl to join him; which she did.

"Gwenevere. I don't think you should be so fond about Nethalzia like that." He began, still watching her.  
"But why?" She pleaded, her face a pallet of shattered dreams. "You were the one to bring up the idea of me working here!"  
"I know. Like Sophie says, we'll have to wait and see. I think you'll find that 'normal' jobs aren't as easy to come by as theft."  
"What do you mean?" The nymph asked, reaching for the bowl of nuts. She plopped a peanut into her mouth and began to chew-shell and all.  
"Well, let me put it this way. There are certain requirements you have to meet. Certain taffers who think they're better than you who you have to impress." Garrett grumbled. "Before, I was the only one you had to impress. But if you want to learn how to live down here...well, that's an entirely different story."

Gwenevere swallowed, coughing a little as the salty shell found the back of her throat.

"Is that why we're here?"  
"Yes."  
"So, you're gonna teach me how to live and work around The City, like Sophie and Basso?" From beneath his hood, the thief raised an eyebrow at her.  
"Like Sophie, yeah."  
"Garrett? How do you know all of this? Aren't you...sort of an outsider?" She questioned.  
"I have my sources, like any good rogue. If I didn't know how people lived, I wouldn't have a very clear picture of how to steal from them, now would I?" Garrett plucked a peanut from the bowl.  
"Huh. I'll bet people from different places live a whole lot differently than they do here. Is that another reason you avoided stealing from the people of Nethalzia?" Gwenevere reached for a second nut.

Garrett took the time to de-shell his before answering.

"That was to avoid blowing our cover. If things started going missing, the first suspects would have been the new faces in town. And seriously, drop Nethalzia Gwenevere." He cautioned.  
"How come?" She cocked her head.  
"Because." The thief lifted his head and began staring at nothing. "We're never going back there."  
"What?!" He felt Gwenevere's leg jerk beside his. "But we...we had a home there and everything. A future." Her eyes grew moist as she stared up into his hardened scowl.  
"We had a place to hide there. Nothing more."

The nymph grew very still for several minutes, listening to the strange melodies dancing around the bright and busy tavern. In both speed and the excitement they brought, they almost reminded the girl of Pagan music. But sadly, out of all those vividly haunting tunes, there was only one song that she could still remember from start to finish.

That song. The one Lotus taught her. Before he mysteriously disappeared.

"Don't you ever just...want to run?" She asked the thief, although she was unsure why. "Run away, and...and try to find something better for yourself?"

Garrett looked down at her with a truly melancholy expression. There were hints of umbrage and intrigue mixed in as well, but they were almost unnoticeable amidst the torrent within his sullen eyes.

"I've never stopped."

************************************************

"Gwenevere, before we begin, I have to ask," Garrett hesitated, unsure whether that was indeed a good idea, "how much did you learn while living with Simmons?"

The nymph's face began to redden, obviously uncomfortable with the sudden mention of her former kidnapper.

"Umm..." her breath caught in her throat, starving off the tears. For a moment, the thief deeply regretted ever asking the girl anything about her previous life.

Somehow, Gwenevere managed to finish her sentence without crying.

"I've never actually been taught very much, outside of magic, 'proper' speech, and home economics. Olaura taught me to read, so she could teach me some extra spells and such too though."  
"Who's Olaura?" Garrett asked, more to try and calm her rather than actual interest.

It worked, as Gwenevere suddenly looked up at the thief beside her, and smiled.

"I believe you know her as The Queen of Beggars."

Garrett glanced up at the intricate woodwork of the tavern ceiling, silently admiring such dedicated craftsmanship for a moment. He did recall the old crone mentioning her relationship to Gwenevere; the last he'd spoken with her. She hadn't mentioned her name, though.

"Is that why she lives how she does now? As punishment for helping you?"

Garrett's words were callow and poorly chosen; but a nymph's mind is a powerful thing-far different is their acceptance of men, or what is seen as hurtful. As such, Gwenevere did not grow unnerved by his clumsy comment.

Besides, she already knew the truth.

"She lost her vision. Cataracts, I think she called it. Simmons kicked her out when he realized that she could no longer see." Gwenevere explained. "I remember, nan sometimes would tell me about strange dreams, or thing she could see when no one else was around. I thought maybe, it was her magic or something. But she just thought she was going insane, I think."  
"I never knew the old bat had magic powers." The thief mumbled, wondering when the hell the last course was going to get there.

At least it had been Sophie who'd taken their order, so Garrett hadn't been forced to suffer through a conversation with one of those bubbly waitresses. No doubt they would have flirted with him or some other smut.

"I'm not so sure it was magic Garrett. Have you ever heard the theory of the senses?"

She looked up at his mechanical eye, unsure if this part of the conversation would bother him. Glancing down, he noticed where she was staring immediately.

"Yes, I have." He replied sharply, placing the drinking glass to his parched lips.

Gwenevere said nothing, kicking her feet underneath the table.

"So then, you know how when one sense is deprived another will compensate for that loss, right?"  
"Why do you think I'm so good with my hands Gwenevere?" The thief mumbled.  
"Oh, I don't know? I just always assumed that was part of your thiefy-ness." The girl shrugged. Garrett slowly began to shake his head.  
"I was good, but not that good. Until the...accident."

His face grew empty and dark, and Gwenevere could almost see the horrible memories parading through his unspoken mind. A look of grave concern danced within her eyes, and she took his hand. Garrett looked down at her, his eyes intrigued, although his expression was stoic and concentrated. Gwenevere's own face almost opposed the thief's. Her eyes were apologetic, her lip trembling violently. Garrett's brows furrowed when hot tears began to fall freely from her eyes as if they were bleeding in sympathy.

"Garrett. I'm so sorry for what my parents did to you. If I had of somehow stopped it-if I had known then of what a fantastical creature you are...I would have tried to reason with them."  
"You were a baby Gwenevere. There was nothing you could do, even if you were there that night." The thief replied, though he did not want confirmation on that last statement.

The thought of Gwenevere being there; witnessing what happened. It was beginning to make him sick.

"I know. But maybe...maybe I could have stopped it! I was the Last Mother-a demi-goddess until recently! Even baby deities are capable of incredible strength. My mother first taught me to kill when I was only four!"  
"Gwenevere, that's enough." The thief cautioned.  
"Maybe I could have talked to him. If I jumped in even, and defended you-"  
"-Then the Trickster would have struck you down, just as any other god once they were opposed." He interrupted, eager for this conversation to just end.

Gwenevere had unwittingly given him something extra to have nightmares over; the fact that she had been there.

_What sort of demented monster would show that sort of cruelty to a child?!_

Garrett sighed hard, realizing that he had just answered his own question. Just when he thought she wouldn't speak another word on the matter, the nymph shyly bent forward and kissed his hand.

"What?" He hissed.  
"Garrett...I know saying this is meaningless, but if I could give you back your eye, I would."

The thief's reaction, was the last thing she was expecting. He silently stared down at her through shocked eyes. One now of metal, but equally affected by her compassionate sentiment. In that moment, he wanted to embrace her. But with the crowded tavern, Garrett knew that wasn't an option for him. But they _could_ leave...

"Gwenevere. Forget dinner. There's something I need to show you."

Without waiting for a response, the thief hopped over her, exiting the booth. He then grabbed her wrist and tore off through the flooded sea of drunkards and candlelight.

"H-hey, Garrett! Aren't we s'posed to pay for that?!" Gwenevere shrieked, prompting him to run faster with her.

The two fled off into the darkness, just as the last of their food reached the table. The thief looked over his shoulder at the flustered bar wench, and grinned.


	53. Chapter 53

They ran throughout the rain-kissed streets that evening, the balmy Summer haze receding in their wake; until coming to a place where only forlorn shadows resided. Gwenevere tilted her head and gawked up at the immense, decaying structure. It was dilapidated; abandoned. It had clearly been a mansion, or perhaps even a castle at one time in the not so distant past. But now, it was little more than a denounced, rotting shell.

Infamously dubbed the "Old Quarter Funhouse", this had once been the home of a near-forgotten noble; named Constantine. Why no one had ever fully demolished the place was uncertain; though the many tales of unexplained phenomena surrounding the old structure was the most likely cause. After all, most of The City's residents refused to go within thirty meters of the place. For this broken building was reputed for be haunted.

And perhaps, in many aspects, it was.

Tight, olive green weeds coiled and constricted around the throat of a crumbling marble statue, her once beautiful face now caked with moss and grime. Discolored tiles of duel color schemes lay cracked and strewn amongst a carpet of dead leaves and decay. Strange faces peeked out from deeper inside; Green men carvings, accompanied by the occasional dying splendor of a fairy's flame.

Gwenevere, was rendered breathless. She gasped as a chilly droplet fell from above and tapped her hand. Facing the worn scaffolding above, the girl first suspected rain again. But as she did so, another drop slid down her cheek, causing her to halt outright. The little nymph blinked, and more liquid promptly ran down her face. Gwenevere slowly reached up and wiped her eyes.

Why was she crying? She wasn't particularly emotional at the moment. Maybe a little confused, but...

"Why did you bring me here?" Gwenevere peeped, as a myriad of colorful memories began racing back to her.

They were surrounded by a hazy fog, as most recollections become once their bearer chooses to abandon them. Some were laced with great joy, while others nearly made her want to cower. But came they did, and the nymph remained sullen.

Speechless.

Why had she ever tried to forget? She had been so very young-at an age where only creatures of whimsy and magic could ever hope to reflect back to.

_There was a burrow-no! Several. That's where I would sleep. Mother tended and arranged all manner of flowers in the greenhouse; sometimes I got to help...  
_  
"Do you truly remember this place, Gwenevere?" Garrett spoke slowly in response to her latest inquiry, unaware of the dire turmoil she was now wordlessly combating.

The thief's stare was locked apprehensively upon the rotting manor, and he hadn't yet noticed her tears.

"I...I think so..." She gave a weak, unsure nod and proceeded to wipe them away. "But why would you take me back here?"

The thief wet his upper lip with the tip of his tongue, silently staring out over the destroyed building.

_No. She wouldn't know. Wouldn't understand why I keep doing this year after year. No one does._

He'd tried his best to cope, after all the insanity that had befallen his life. It all seemed to stem from this horrible place. Returning year after year to this macabre funhouse where all such chaos stemmed, was Garrett's way of facing that madness-and coming to grips with it.

"Gwenevere, I have to know. To be dead straight with you, this has been bothering me ever since I first learned that you were the one to rescue me from the Northcrest Manor fiasco." His hand was still clamped tightly around her wrist, and the young woman could feel it begin to perspire and tighten. She looked up at his lost expression, somewhat worried.  
"Garrett? Are you gonna be okay?"  
"How many times did you see me prior to us meeting?" The thief gracelessly demanded. He still wouldn't look at her, and immediately a vicious terror consumed Gwenevere's heart.

She was inevitably reminded of the incident at the Moira Asylum last year. When the thief had first learned of Erin's survival; and of the secret Gwenevere had retained from him. She had never felt more helpless and empty, than when he had told her to leave. Yet in spite of that excruciating memory, Gwenevere was still a bit surprised by the nature of Garrett's question. It also bothered her that the thief still had yet to release his grip on her wrist. He was uncomfortable, perhaps even uneasy and apprehensive to know the answer; and the nymph could sense it.

But he still wanted it-that much was also obvious to her. Taking a refreshing breath, Gwenevere faced him.

"Aside from my intervention at Northcrest Manor...three times, all together." Garrett's demeanor seemed to grow frigid upon receipt of her answer.

Three times?! How had he never noticed her?! Furthermore, why didn't Gwenevere remember him? That was probably what disturbed him most of all.  
The thief was more troubled over her lost memories than anything. As much as the truth utterly disgusted him, Garrett knew that Gwenevere had lost almost all of her true self; forgotten it. He had been speaking out of empathy rather than truth, when he told her they could find those lost pieces of her heritage; which equally disgusted him.

But in spite of that, he still hoped it was true.

"When?" He pressed.

Gwenevere's jaw grew slack, drooping open in a half stupor. Her mind was suddenly paralyzed. She knew the answer, but something had caused her mouth to go dry. Spinning around, Garrett faced her and grabbed up her other wrist. He squeezed. Not hard enough to hurt her, but hard enough to let the girl know that he was dead serious about this.

"When was the first time?" The thief hissed, his gaze growing extremely intense.  
"I-I think it was that night..." She managed, the lucid reflections of moonlight cast within her eyes betraying more than she was telling. Garrett recognized the glint of desperation in her too. It was as if she was pleading for him to just leave it at that. His lips parted to demand specifics, but then reluctantly closed again with a heated outward breath.  
"Yeah. I get it..." He begrudgingly took a step away from her face and finally let her free. "THAT night..."

Garrett turned back around, his stringent silhouette illuminated by the wavering indigo sky.

"What about the other two times?"  
"When I was living in the forest with my mother. I saw you talking with her once, and the other time..." She gave him an oddly hurt look. Garrett raised an eyebrow.  
"What?"  
"Well, you kicked me." The nymph shuffled her feet, eyes downcast and ashamed.  
"Kicked you-" The thief's face warped in shocked realization. "...The Wood Beast...but you were different then. Much smaller."  
"Well, yeah. I was a baby! What didja think?! That my alternate form was always that large and monstrous?" Gwenevere chided.  
"I thought you were a dog." Garrett rubbed his palm across his forehead. "I was wondering why the Pagans kept such a thing around."  
"Well, I was no dog."

The thief gave a slightly uncomfortable chuckle at that, his eyes wandering subconsciously down her face, and coming to rest upon her supple lips. He had passionately explored that cavity countless times. However, it made his innards twist as he began to remember all the other things that mouth had done. How there had also once been great thorny fangs there, and a grizzled black tongue. How he had helplessly watched her bite a man in half with that mouth.

"Gwenevere. To answer your question...I didn't bring you here for much of any reason. I just come here every year."  
"Why?" Gwenevere gave him a truly confused look.  
"It doesn't matter. I get what I need from this." He huffed, once again facing the ruins. "But while we're here, I figured we could go on a little treasure hunt."  
"Treasure hunt?" The girl cocked her head.

Was Garrett really planning on looting such a cursed and unpredictable place? A part of her was actually growing offended. She had lived there once, after all! With a parent who actually loved and protected her. One parent. The other, if you could indeed call him that, saw only one purpose for her. A purpose that could no longer ever be fulfilled.

"Think about it Gwenevere," he began, "if you used to live here, then we might be able to find some clues about who you used to be." The young woman's eyes widened. She hadn't thought of that!  
"What a brilliant plan Garrett!"  
"Plus, this will be beneficial to your training as well. If you're going to learn how to survive in this city as an adult, it's a good idea to find out where you came from." He added, neglecting to thank her for the compliment.  
"That sounds like something Keyper Mcclay might say." Gwenevere giggled.

Garrett shot her an annoyed glare. Mcclay again. Why was that meddlesome Keeper always on her mind? Had she still been using the Memory Keeper to speak with him, going against her master's expressed orders? Garrett shuddered. He certainly hoped the girl was smarter than that.  
Mcclay had nothing wholesome planned for her. Garrett was sure of that.

"No. Those are my own words." He retorted with a snort, before starting off in the direction of the ruined mansion.

Gwenevere blinked as he walked away from her, unsure why he was so offended. Shrugging, the nymph scampered to catch up with him, as Garrett neared the splintered remains of what had once been the front door of her 'family' home.

*********************************************************

Going in through said door was impossible. It was either blocked by something unseen from the other side, or outrageously heavy. Instead, they entered by squeezing through ravaged cracks in the outer walls. Like two unwanted rats, the thief and his soon-to-be dismissed apprentice scurried their way across the dusty floor.

The inside of the building was so stark, that Garrett actually began to ponder whether or not all the color had somehow perished alongside the former resident of that place. The thief had never dared venture back within since that traumatizing night so long ago. There was nothing left for him here, save a nauseating stillness ripe with befouled thoughts.

However, there was probably something left over for his budding accomplice.

He glanced over his shoulder at Gwenevere, not too surprisingly finding her distracted again. Her eyes gazed upwards, her burgundy lips gaping open in child-like wonder at the domed glass ceiling just above. Through a mixture of accumulated grime and dust, she could see the crescent moon smiling down at her. Welcoming the Woodsie Child back home.

Garrett, was far from comforted by his surroundings. The inner courtyard of the mansion was completely rancid. Dead trees stood gnarled and untended among a bug-riddled refuse of moldy soil, and blackened mushrooms. There was a rotten stench in the stagnant air, and the entire area was warm-too warm. It being late Summer, the vegetation had secreted extra moisture and growth throughout the lonesome structure. That tropical humidity, coupled with the repugnant stench of decaying plant life, made traversing the area almost unbearable.

He was almost certain that the place was devoid of any life. Rumors about strange happenings and curses had an unrealistic amount of merit when it came to scaring the superstitious populous away from places. A fact that was not only known by the higher nobility and royal family; but heavily manipulated by them as well.  
But the thief was not one such simpleton. He had been raised by Keepers after all, and thus was both too well-read and too well educated to believe such foolish stories. No, what worried him about this angry dwelling, were the numerous traps littered around. Many would still be very much active, and while he knew how to best avoid them, Gwenevere did not.

"Gwenevere," he began, hastily removing his heavy cloak and revealing his sweaty hair, "this is very important, so you need to listen carefully. You need to stay close, and don't touch anything." He gave her a serious look. "And I mean, _anything_. Got that?"  
"Yes." The girl nodded, oddly complacent.  
"Good." The thief panted, the heat still extremely uncomfortable for someone wearing long sleeves, leather, and a decent layer of light chainmail around his chest and upper legs.

There was an almost chilling essence amidst all that warm air, and the thief shuddered as he felt the hairs underneath his hood stand on end. It was a truly disheartening sort of anxiety, and one that he knew would only continue to worsen the deeper he traversed into this madhouse. He wondered if the uncomfortable atmosphere was more psychological than real. After all, Garrett had seen his share of ghosts and spirits-more than he was comfortable with. He had a certain sense for their presence now; it was like a feeling of being watched, coupled with an aura of deep unrest and depression. Even the less than friendly beings the thief had encountered emitted that sensation, although Garrett was unsure just why this was.

Garrett sensed no such paranormal presence here-and for that, he was extremely grateful.

As they progressed deeper and deeper into the deplorable mansion, Garrett began to feel more at ease. He never allowed himself to become completely relaxed on any sort of adventure-job or otherwise. Doing so was deadly. But the overgrown structure brought with it a sense of calmness. Unlike his first visit, or his last, there were no enemies patrolling the winding halls. No carnivorous humanoids ravenous for his flesh. This time, the trek through The Tricksters mansion, was oddly enough, rather enjoyable.

Gwenevere in turn, was beginning to grow more unsettled as a deluge of memories paraded across her subconscious. The family usually remained secretive in their affairs, never even leaving the mansion on most accounts. The very few times she ever recalled going out with her parents, were awkward and detached affairs. It was the imposing sayter god's way of creating a deception of calm amidst the noble populus-ergo easing their curious concerns about him.

She remembered being at a social gathering once, wherein the three disguised beings all sat in silence as the nightly festivities rang throughout the livid ballroom. Occasionally, he would drink or otherwise partake in social affairs, to which the nobility always found him at best eccentric, and at worst eerily off-putting. Gwenevere's mother rarely spoke at said gatherings, preferring, or perhaps commanded, to remain situated with the ruby-haired babe at all times.

The nymph's lips tried to smile in spite of her pain, but Gwenevere found it fruitless.

"Gwenevere." Garrett's sudden words cut through the thick blanket of colorful thoughts preoccupying the young woman's mind.  
"Yes?" She jumped, looking around in wonder at just how far they had gone without her noticing.  
"There's a door here." The thief began, tapping his knuckles against the decaying wooden frame.

Gwenevere nodded, although it was forced and extremely weak. Garrett took notice of this, and began to frown.

"Is this too hard for you?" He asked, more out of unease rather than concern. Even without creatures or spirits, this place was still perilous, and the thief would rather her remain still if she couldn't focus on the task at hand.  
"It's...different. Not hard, just..." She fumbled the words around in her mouth, as if unsure whether or not the answer would put him off working with her.  
"You're starting to remember living here, aren't you?" Garrett stated, and this time he _was _genuinely concerned.  
"Yes..."

Garrett stared at her with utmost anxiety. A forceful pang of pity gripped his heart as he locked eyes with Gwenevere. The thief silently shuddered within as he felt his stomach twist into a series of uncomfortable knots.

At least HE had some recollection of his life before becoming an orphan. Of his parents, his home. Even in his darkest moments, he had them to cling to. Gwenevere had gone without any such inner comforts for so very long, that even the most simple memories now seemed foreign and imposing to her.

The thief squeezed his eyes tightly shut. He had never felt such unrelenting grief for another living soul in his entire life.

"Gwenevere. I know this is very difficult. I know..." his voice was low, and distant. "But if I'm not mistaken, this door leads to the Trickster's study. If there is anything left about who you were, or what you were meant to be, then it would be locked up somewhere inside."

Gwenevere paused, trying to ready herself for the worst. If they didn't find anything here at all, what would she do? So many newfound memories had returned to her that night, just from walking through the remnants of her past. Now more than ever, the little nymph desperately needed to know what had transpired all those years ago. Who she really was.

"I'm ready. Let's go." She nodded.

And this time, it was a genuine nod.


	54. Chapter 54

Normally when Garrett picked a lock, the sealed object in question was opened with ambitious haste. But not this time. This time, the thief wanted to be absolutely certain that there wasn't going to be a trap waiting for him on the other side. Garrett's memory drew back to a much earlier time in his life-his first visit to this insane place. No doubt the Tricksters many 'tests' were magically activated. Otherwise, the thief had a difficult time understanding how the disguised god could have walked around his own house, unscathed. Reaching into his knapsack, the thief withdrew the ring Gwenevere had loaned him the night before.

"What are you doing?" Gwenevere wore an inquisitive look on her face.

Garrett stared at her, and frowned slightly at what he saw. Her disguise was still new enough, that the thief hadn't gotten used to the nymph's new chocolate brunette hair yet. Her eyes had to remain celadon, although neither of them understood why. The last time Gwenevere had tried to 'color' her features, it had worked...on some bizarre level.

Garrett still found her beautiful. It was impossible for him not to, just as it was impossible for the thief to survey any of his treasures with a disinterested eye. Yet, even still, he couldn't help but notice how the nymph girl really did look as if she were Sophie's daughter now.

"What do you mean, 'what am I doing'?" Garrett snorted, placing the ring against the doorknob. "I'm trying to-" He stopped abruptly, all of a sudden realizing that he honestly didn't have a clue. Instead, Garrett stood, and took a frustrated step away from the door.

Gwenevere, smiled.

"A ring can't unlock a door Garrett. This isn't a storybook, ya know?" She giggled.

The thief released an uptight huff. He was dripping with sweat, the leather of his outfit clinging to him in rather uncomfortable ways. He'd been up for nearly three days now without any sleep, causing the world around him to have a surreal blur to it. Without thinking, he snapped at her.

"I was trying to see if there was any sort of magical traps on the other side, okay? Is that really so strange? We, 'non-mages' don't exactly understand how the taff that stuff works Gwenevere!"

She ceased her giggling, and gave him a concerned look.

"But, how could my ring-"

"-I don't know, alright?" Garrett hollered.

Upon noticing how her livid green eyes grew painful upon receipt of his fury, the thief inhaled a deep, concentrated breath. He held it there in the back of his throat for several seconds, then released it in a heated burst. Blinking some sweat out of his eyes, he tried to remained collected.

"Listen Gwenevere. I'm hot, I'm exhausted, and I just want to find what we came here for so we can leave." He explained languidly.

The nymph's luster returned. Gwenevere gave him an understanding nod.

"Well, why didn't you say so? I can make sure there's no magic in there for ya!"

Garrett began to inquire as to how she planned to do that. Perhaps the girl simply remembered which rooms held obstacles, and which were safe. The thief had to admit, between the memories he'd blocked and those naturally forgotten, he sure as hell didn't! But a soft wooden click silenced all quandary, as Garrett watched Gwenevere turn the study doorknob through aghast eyes.

He watched, his exhausted mind now far too slow to intervene in time. Garrett would never forget how trustingly she flung that door open, an adventurous and helpful grin spread wide across her face. Metal spotted what flesh could not, as a budding purple light quickly welled up within the maw of a lifeless stone face...

"Look out!"

Gwenevere heard this warning as she was knocked off her feet. Garrett cradled the back of her head as he braced for landing. The two crashed against an aging bookshelf, sending several rain-soaked volumes crashing over them.

_**PEEW!**_

A shot of purple magic caught the edge of his cloak, singeing it. Gwenevere gawked into his intense expression, her eyes wide open and afraid. Not for what could have happened-but rather, what unwittingly already had.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?!" He demanded, furious with her for endangering herself like that. "Stupid girl, I told you not to involve yourself!"

Gwenevere's eyes remained wide, empty. She didn't move, nor did she try to speak. Garrett's brows furrowed, as a disbelieving scowl adorned his sweltering face. Her silence _infuriated_ him. She could have been killed-didn't she understand that?!

"Gwenevere! Answer me damn it!"

His gaze was harsh, intermingled with coursing adrenaline. He could feel Gwenevere's heart beating madly against his chest. At first, he thought her just as winded and fazed as he was. But that's when the Master Thief noticed the helplessness in her eyes. She looked almost as though she had just lost something. Garrett's nerves gradually steadied, and softened into deep concern. Usually by this point, the girl would have tried to speak. Attempted to convey her side of things, or to try and explain what she had done. But not this time. This time, Gwenevere remained petrified.

"Gwenevere?" He muttered out in a thirsty voice.

Still, the nymph did not answer. This was beginning to worry him. With shaken digits, the nymph finally reached up and touched his face.

"I...was trying to protect you. I knew there was a trap in this room, and I was gonna try and deflect it..."

Her lips began to tremble after that, and her glassy eyes quivered with emotion. Garrett sighed hard, unmoved by her teary display. After all, she'd nearly lost her life again, and the thief wasn't sure if it was even possible to bring her back twice.

"I don't care!" He barked, his sudden shift in demeanor causing her to jerk. "You DO NOT run ahead of me. Ever. Got that?"

"Got it..." Gwenevere shivered.

"You need to save your magic for important things anyway. It isn't free anymore."

"It isn't...with me anymore, either..." The nymph confessed in a hushed whisper. "That was why I couldn't protect you. Why I couldn't change the color of my eyes. It's beginning to wane."

Garrett had to admit-he was a little uncertain about how to respond to this. At first, he thought perhaps it was a joke, of sorts. But Gwenevere hadn't been much of a tease in the past, and the utter loss and mortal terror apparent within her eyes, was no laughing matter.

"Gwenevere, that's enough! This isn't funny." He reprimanded, in one last futile attempt to convince himself that this wasn't real. It couldn't be. Magical creatures couldn't loose their powers like that-could they?

He tried to address her again, as her petite form began to quiver and shake with distress. But his mouth felt extremely dry.

He began to wonder if magic was closer to stealth or swordplay than most ignorant folk made it out to be. Everyone Garrett knew, himself included, always assumed magic to be some sort of incredible gift; and gifts rarely required instruction or practice. He started to think back on his life with The Keepers, as much as he really didn't want to.

She, had been trained. Practiced almost non-stop until she eventually drove him and everyone else away. He was almost ashamed to admit it-how much about her that had been forgotten over the years. Secrets that he'd never tell.

Gwenevere, hadn't been practicing her magic. At least not for some time. A disgusting wrenching sensation tore away at the thief's innards. If magic was akin to stealth and swordplay, archery and concentration, then he knew why she was losing her talents. From day one, Garrett had been commanding her never to use her magic. For almost a year, he'd assumed it a threat, and worthless to her training as a thief.

But in the end, Gwenevere was never going to make it there. Never going to be a thief. Garrett silently shuddered, all other discomfort vanishing in wake of what he had unwittingly caused his forest nymph to lose.

"What?! No. No!" The thief's breathing quickened. "You can't be serious Gwenevere, you're magic can't just disappear like that!"

Oh, how much he desperately wanted to believe that! His eyes were now adamantly focused on hers, traversing her innermost heart for any semblance of whimsical enchantment that his worldly spirit could find.

"It can." She nodded, choking on her own tears. "I was born into this world as a demi-goddess. When you granted me salvation from that horrible nightmarish side of myself, everything began to unravel."

"What the hell are you talking about?! Maybe there's a solution. If we-"

"-There isn't!" Gwenevere interrupted, rendering the thief into silence. "Don't you see? I came into this world as a dream; as a vision of power and life. A god's desires can only remain intact and perfect if the design is not challenged. You saved my soul, Garrett. But in doing so, you undid my power. I'm little more than a plucked flower now; and as such, in time I shall wither and fade away."

"You...can't..." He croaked, as he continued to hold Gwenevere like a helpless child. Garrett gripped the soft sleeves of her dress. "Gwenevere, I mean it!"

"All treasures fade, Garrett. Even the most meaningful ones." She began to smile sadly, still interlocked with her thief upon that moss-laden stone floor.

"But you're different Gwenevere," the thief began, stricken with panic, "you're alive! You do more than just glimmer and sparkle out of my reach. You...have true value to me."

"I know." The nymph closed her eyes. As the tears began to pour down her face, Garrett fumbled her face between his shaking palms.

"Gwenevere, listen to me!" He hollered. That was the final stent for his sharpened tone. After a series of desperate breaths and indistinguishable grunts, the thief's voice waned into little more than a cautious whisper. "This can't happen..."

Garrett stared down at the uncharacteristically sullen creature, only now did he realize that he'd cut his hand in the process of shoving her out of danger. A thin stream of dark crimson oozed from his index finger. The slight scrape didn't hurt, and if not for the striking contrast of dark blood against pale skin, the thief doubted he would have even noticed it.

He also noticed something else. A book.

The material of its cover was what caused it to stand out. While most of the other tomes within the cramped study sported handsome, intricate leather covers, this book was almost crude in it's composition. It didn't have a title; it didn't even have a spine. Instead, the cover and pages looked as though they had been glued together with tree sap.

Now intensely curious, the thief reluctantly got to his knees and crawled over towards the mysterious volume. Garrett plucked it from the ground, turning it over in his hand. But what he saw, nearly caused him to drop it again out of shock. A menacing, verdant predator adorned the torn leather cover. The creature had the mangled features of both a bear and a wolf-if they had been left to rot for several months. The eyes were blacked out with ink, though they still seemed very luminous and receptive.

"Gwenevere?" Garrett murmured, eyes still transfixed atop the disturbing journal. "I think I just found something."

The nymph was still listless, broken where she had landed upon the deplorable ground. With a near-hopeless expression written within her eyes, Gwenevere glanced over at her thief. That's when she noticed the book he was holding-the monstrous illustration of her denounced demon emblazoned upon the cover. Forgetting the deadly faerie fire, she stood up and rushed over to him. Garrett stood too, eyeing the trap expectantly. Silently wondering why the delightfully vivacious girl had repeated her latest blunder without any provocation or thought. But the trap didn't trigger again, leading the thief to realize that it was only activated by the opening of the door.

"Oh Garrett!" She squeezed him abruptly. "You did! I can hardly believe it!"

"Do you want to do the honors?" The thief grinned, motioning for her to open the journal.

Gwenevere did so immediately, with no afterthought for what might await her within these forgotten pages. But what she discovered, only caused her posture to slump forward in bitter defeat. All sentences were absent, replaced by strange symbols of an unknown origin scrawled in dark green.

Her smile gave way to the most mournful pout that the thief had ever seen. Gwenevere closed the book, and looked him dead in the eyes.

"W-what do we do now?" She sniffed, fighting to hide her tears. "We can't even read it..." The thief gazed down at her with a gentle, reassuring smirk.

"We can translate it Gwenevere. It may be a challenge, but we'll definitely get it done. I'll find a way."

"Garrett?" She sniffed, tears of sorrow giving way to those of utmost jubilation.

The thief closed the book, and pulled her back against his chest. They both continued to stare at the frightening cover, until Garrett unexpectedly kissed the top of her head. Gwenevere gasped with a blush, causing him to smirk again.

"Think about it this way. At least now, we've got something."

Gwenevere relaxed at that, but Garrett's mind was far from satisfied. He had made a grievous mistake, and he knew it. The Master Thief, had stolen from her, and it utterly disgusted him. But perhaps there was something locked within that tome for him too. Perhaps, there was a way to keep her magic from slipping away after all. He had never sought to deprive her of that which made her special-and if there was even some semblance of a chance for the callow and detached man, Garrett would make damn sure that he was able to return it to her.


	55. Chapter 55

**_I want to be your partner...but how do I tell you?_**

_ She knew that her thief worked alone; that he had no need for sidekicks, or help. But in spite of that, Gwenevere constantly found herself thinking those words.  
The nymph had never understood why humans were so shy when it came to love. If you truly cared that much for someone, why couldn't you just tell them? Wouldn't they understand and reciprocate, if you were drawn to them so?_

_When she had wanted Garrett, it took her mere moments to make such attraction known. Raw emotion was a wood nymph's true element; and passion should never-in their opinion-remain a secret. Gwenevere shook her head. Love wasn't easy-but she had made it so. Surely asking to assist her beloved thief in his craft would be far simpler than that!_

_"I'll do it! Garrett's been planning a new heist for weeks now. A huge one! I'll ask him then..."_

********************************************  
Garrett exhaled a relived breath as he and Gwenevere finally exited the macabre greenhouse. He hadn't perspired like that, since his visit to the lava-engulfed Lost City, twenty-five years ago. Gwenevere kept the newfound tome clutched against her chest, as if it were a suckling infant. The thief glanced down at her, and a look of curiosity found his face.

He began to wonder if nymphs fed their young that way. It seemed obvious, since most mothers did, but Garrett wasn't exactly an expert on the matter. He concluded that the answer would become apparent, once the seeds had finished growing.

"Tonight was intense, for both of us," the thief confirmed, looking back up at the ruined manor. "You're still healing, and I don't want to push you Gwenevere. We'll resume your survival training tomorrow evening."

"Okay! That sounds great!" Gwenevere beamed with a giggle.

"Good." The thief gave her a decisive nod. "Now, let's get back to Sophie's-"

_-before the old cow goes sick with worry._ He dryly concluded in thought.

Then, Garrett and his nymph confidant sprinted off down the cobblestone streets. Moonlight lined their rain-slicked path, as they gallivanted off into the night.

*******************************************************  
**THE CITY STREETS:  
THE FOLLOWING NIGHT**

The dimly lit windows of various townhomes were all that kept the muggy Summer streets from total blackness that night. Streetlamps had grown cold, in wake of the smoky coolness of the impending morning. But it was still far too dark to distinguish any sign of dawn. The moon was new and imperceptible; and with the thick, drab storm clouds looming overhead, the heavens had easily been forged of all their radiance.

Rogue human and wanderlustful nymph crept with prudence in the direction of the thief's training house. He still did not dare take her up onto the Thief's Highway-Gwenevere could barely keep to the flat roads without getting distracted by something shiny, or tripping over her own feet.

_Speaking of which..._

Garrett looked over his shoulder and frowned when he noticed that Gwenevere was still several yards behind him. Rolling his eyes with a grunt, the thief turned on his heel and went to collect her. She was staring lividly into the alleyway of a nearby old cinder block warehouse.

"Gwenevere, what are you staring at? Come on!" The thief snapped, grabbing for her wrist.

"Oh, okay." She enthusiastically nodded with a smile. "Hey, is he coming with us or something?"

Garrett's eyes narrowed in deep concern.

Using his mechanical eye's night vision, the thief focused in on the stringent confines of the alleyway. Sure enough, there was a dark figure hunched there. He wasn't a beggar or a prostitute-Garrett could easily tell from his filthy middle-class attire-and he was NOT invited to Gwenevere's training session. Sensing that he was being watched, the man produced a short, curved object. A menacing scowl adorned Garrett's face. It was a pistol.

Gwenevere squeaked as the thief rapidly pulled free and armed his longbow. She wouldn't have considered humans even capable of that speed-had Garrett not demonstrated the contrary at that moment.

"Drop it." The thief snarled.

The other man was silent for several moments, his own ranged weapon still pointed at Garrett. Regardless to whether he knew it or not, this man was extremely lucky. For if he'd had the gun pointed at Gwenevere, the thief would have taken the shot.

After he refused to heed Garrett's demands, the thief hissed and fired a warning shot. The arrow hit the unseen man's readied arm, causing the pistol in his hand to go off. The shot went wide, but still came dangerously close to the thief's left leg. Again, Gwenevere shrieked.

"Owwww! Bloody looney taffin' blighter! Ya shot me arm!" A pain-fueled, pathetic whimper emitted from the alley. Garrett grinned.

"Come out. Now," the thief ordered. "If you try to run, I'll be happy to grant you a matching set."

Wobbly and unwilling, a soot-covered bandit crawled out from the shadows and stood with a painful groan. His stubble-covered face was adorned with thin scars, some of which appeared very fresh. His steel grey eyes examined both Garrett and Gwenevere with utmost caution.

"Why'd you try to shoot me?" Garrett wasted no time getting right to the point.

"I'm here on behalf of Madam Asteriah. M'lady demands ta know where her merchandise is at!" The thug proclaimed with a fool's fearlessness, still clutching his bleeding arm. He hadn't even removed the arrow yet. Garrett's expression grew positively outraged.

"You nearly shot at me, because your 'lady' can't wait a few weeks?! Tch, typical. Everyone always assumes theft to be both quick and easy." His bi-colored glare bore deeply into the man, sending a frigid chill retreating down his spine. "It's rarely either, and NEVER both."

"I-I don't care about all that!" The man spat. "An' besides! It's been closer to a few_ months_, and m'lady said she paid in advance!"

Garrett chuckled.

"Never, pay a thief in advance. That's just common sense."

The lowlife displayed an enraged frown, grinding his rancid teeth.

"So..." he sputtered, "you do not intend to follow through at all. You would instead cheat an admirable businesswoman?!"

The thief leered into the thug through his notorious cynical grimace.

"Tell your lady that I'll get her the goods." The thief's brows gravely furrowed. "And I don't take kindly to _threats_..."

The shady man confidently stood his ground.

"Well, neither does she." He countered. Garrett squinted his eyes, a disbelieving sourness present upon his lips. He had just shot this man-how far was he willing to press this?  
_  
Just how stupid are you?!_

The man in question stood smug for several moments-clearly mistaking Garrett's silence as a sign of intimidation-before crooking his head with curiosity. His large eyes widened, and mouth agape, he pointed at the thief with an accusatory finger.

"Oi! Wait just a second! I know yous! Yous are that thar bloke everyone's been callin' a Master Thief. Ha! What a taffing joke!" He chortled. "Can't even steal a few things in a timely fashion! What are ya? A coward? Or just a straight-up fraud?"

Gwenevere, took serious umbrage at that.

"What the heck did you just say?!" She snarled, marching towards the thug.

But Garrett placed his hand against her stomach, lightly pausing her attempts to safeguard his underworld reputation.

"Go on." The thief wore a smug, almost daring look upon his face. He was more than up for this laughable challenger.

"Garrett?" Gwenevere stared up at him, wide-eyed. She honestly had no idea why her mentor was allowing this idiot to so blatantly insult him.

"Not now Gwenevere." He shushed her, eyes still locked upon the man before him. And said man, continued to mindlessly spew his words like bile.

"Well, hows can yous be a Master Thief, if all you ever do is pick thems pockets, or rob them nobles. I mean, that there's two tricks for the pony, but still..."

Asteriah's lackey spat a wad of phlegm squarely in Garrett's direction. The watery yellowed chunk landed just inches from his boots. Gwenevere's eyes grew menacing.

Enough was enough. She was getting rid of this joker now!

"Alright! That's it!" She hissed, "you don't talk about him that way!"

The thug boomed with laugher.

"What's this? Gotta have yer dollymop make comebacks fer ya, 'Master Thief'?"

"I'm not just a thief you know." Garrett spoke in a rather bored tone, concealing his ire at the implication that his Gwenevere was some loose whore.

To be honest, he was growing quite tired of this, and wanted it over. Both Gwenevere and the lowlife stared up at him with avid interest, wondering what he would say next.

"Yeah? Well, that's all _I've_ heard. So what else can ya do?" The man crossed his arms doubtfully. Garrett smirked, an air of mockery and belittlement present within his thoughts. Ooh, this was going to be fun!

"Well, I'm also a moonlighter, housebreaker, porch-climber, Mutcher, scrounger, Roller, embezzler, klepto-"

"Uhh..." The hooligan grew wall-eyed, as he tried to remember each of the numerous words that had just been thrown at him. "W-wait a second, wait a second...ummm...porch-cleaner, muncher...what else was there?" He mumbled.

Whilst he was so heavily distracted, Gwenevere continued to gawk up at her thief in adoration and awe.

"Golly Garrett! I didn't know you did all of that!" She admired. Garrett leaned down to her level, and whispered sharply into her piked ear.

"Those are all words that also mean thief, Gwenevere." Garrett glanced back at the still-flustered criminal with a smirk. "He'll probably be stuck like that for some time. Let's get out of here."

************************************************

Several scraggly rodents twitched their whiskers in anticipation, their tiny pin-prick eyes aglow. They scattered off after the retracting shadows, as the door to the abandoned residence creaked open. A much larger creature of the night, prowled steadily inside. Garrett whirled around, watching as Gwenevere shut the door behind her. Now immersed within complete darkness, the Master Thief stared solemnly down at his student. Her green eyes twinkled, regardless of the lack of lighting. She was ready.

"The last lesson we covered, was situational awareness. Let's start off by seeing how well you remember what I've taught you, Gwenevere."

The wood nymph nearly choked on her own excitement. Finally, after almost two months, she was finally being asked to train for him again!

"Alright!" She giggled with an exuberant nod. The thief's expression, as per usual, remained collected and stoic.

"Same as before then," he responded, pulling free the blindfold from his knapsack.

After affixing it around her eyes, Garrett sprinted off into the far corner of the room. Just as before, Gwenevere relaxed her senses, and focused on each of them; the messages they relayed to her mind. But unlike the night before, this time she heard only silence.

Then, Gwenevere thought of something she hadn't before.

_What if...I sniffed him out?_

Having been repressed from any of her people's history of abilities since a very young age, Gwenevere had absolutely no idea how well nymphs could actually smell. Of the power of that feral, highly acute sense which allowed them to navigate their world, or hunt manfools in the dark. But she was about to find out, just how amazing it truly was.

Gwenevere silently gasped. She had never focused to smell before-relying on her eyes and ears to do most of the exploration of her world. And with her eyes now covered, the power of the nymph nose was remarkably enhanced. Almost instantly, her nostrils were infused with a rush of information:

Damp moldiness. Rat feces. Old twigs from a bird's nest, long devoid of any hatchlings. From beneath the blindfold, her eyes flew open, her lips contorting into a devious grin.

Garrett.

Now that she had his scent, it would be a simple matter of reaching him again. Her thief was incredibly nimble, and almost inhumanly quick. But she was a nymph-and she, could be pretty quick herself. She listened this time, giving her nose a chance to hold and linger on the beautiful smoky essences of her beloved manfool. Garrett wasn't moving, this much was clear to her. He probably wasn't aware that she'd sniffed him out just yet. However, Gwenevere knew that the moment she took a step, he'd hear her.

She had never been nearly as silent as he was...

For a moment, she considered using her vines to simply pull him to her. But Gwenevere knew they wouldn't reach that far. Besides, Garrett had firmly instructed her to use all magic sparingly. And that command held far more importance, now that her magic was waning. With an unwilling grimace, the young woman gradually made her way across the creaky wooden floor. She could understand why the thief had chosen this particular place to become his training area-it certainly was proving a challenge to navigate!

As per expected, Garrett moved when he heard her strident footsteps. Gwenevere paused, trying to once again determine his position. From his hiding spot, Garrett smirked bittersweetly as he observed the nymph sniffing at the surrounding air.

_Using your sense of smell? Clever little thing._

Gwenevere released a frustrated grunt when he moved again. She knew his position, wasn't that enough? Why did she have to catch him? A part of her didn't understand any of this, but she trusted Garrett's methods. Trusted him to train her properly.

She was getting closer though. A few more feet, and she would at least be able to snatch at the thief with her thick vines. Gwenevere huffed when she remembered that this wasn't part of her test; and she cursed inside of her heart when she realized that she was now at a seemingly hopeless standstill. She couldn't catch him. Unless she rushed forward in an attempt to grab at him; and Gwenevere was certain that this course of action would cause her to fail her test. So instead, she just stood there, completely motionless in the center of the abandoned building. Utterly defeated by the greatest thief who had ever lived.

A sharp tapping sensation abruptly found her unguarded shoulder, prompting the little nymph to yelp. Seconds later, the blindfold was lifted from her eyes.

Gwenevere's first sight, was a deep scowl adorning her thief's face.

"I think you just sort of gave up there." He muttered, extremely disappointed in her performance.

"I'm sorry..." She whispered, feeling as her face burned red with shame.

The thief crossed his arms, restricting his hands from offering any sort of sentiment or comfort to the embarrassed girl. She wasn't going to be a thief, and very soon, she wouldn't even be his pupil anymore. Garrett had to be tougher on her than ever before, if the naïve and trusting girl was going to survive without his constant interference.

Besides, maybe if she hated him just a little, her dismissal wouldn't be quite so painful.

"Give up when a real threat is stalking you, and you're dead." He criticized coldly.

Gwenevere gawked up at him, wide eyed. Garrett hadn't spoken so harshly to her in quite a while. She almost missed it. Ever since they had gone to Nethalzia to hide out-ever since she had come back to him via the gift of ancient nature magic-Garrett had been overprotective and downright possessive with her. She knew their relationship was an odd one. The thief viewed her as a living treasure. Sentient in all things, and truly impossible to contain or hold. Was she a gem to him, a challenge perhaps? Or something far more complex. The nymph had no definite answer to the nature of their relationship-save her side of the matter.

But one thing was obvious to her. She, belonged to Garrett; and he held her at great value. And the Pagan creature was beyond honored by that.

But nevertheless, Gwenevere missed the unclouded judgement of his prior teachings. How he hadn't been lenient with her, nor handled her with the precautions of gracing a breakable object. After her loss and revival, their dynamic had changed. And while their connection and intimate relationship had greatly benefitted from the disaster-their student/teacher relationship, had suffered horribly.

Now, the thief was finally unbiasedly teaching her again. But there was something different within his eyes that night. A stifled sadness, as if the reclusive man was losing something that he could never reclaim. Thinking it was just the darkness playing tricks on her, the young woman decided to ignore it.

Garrett began to scold her again.

"Are you even listening to me Gwenevere?" He barked.

"Yes."

"You can't quit. We've barely just begun." The thief groused, sneering at her.

"I-I know! I didn't forget-"

"-But since you seem so eager to ignore my presence, perhaps I should make that downright impossible for you."

"What?" Gwenevere raised a thin red eyebrow at that. The thief, leered devilishly into those unsuspecting green emeralds she called eyes.

"I'm gonna try to hurt you, and I want you to stop me." He nodded. "We've done this sort of defensive training once before, back at the clocktower. Do you remember?"

Gwenevere gave an uncomfortable nod. She most certainly did. That was right before her first mission with Garrett. Before she told him how she really felt about him. The thief had commanded her to defend herself, and then mercilessly heaved himself at her. Gwenevere still remembered struggling underneath his powerful grip, feeling his muscles and seemingly endless stamina. She still remembered biting his cheek, the taste of his blood. The sound of his painful gasp. The way she felt utterly disgusting after it was all over.

"Y-yes...B-but, I don't wanna hurt you again Garrett..." Gwenevere pleaded. "I don't wanna hurt anybody..."

"I don't care, if you want to hurt people or not." Garrett hissed. "Since your magic is waning, this is now mandatory Gwenevere."

The thief scowled at her through scornful eyes. Eyes that betrayed the impotent concern he was feeling, to even be speaking of such possibilities.

"Make no mistake-there are people in this world who will try to make you do things. Things that will severely hurt you. And they will feel no remorse after doing it."  
Gwenevere started to protest again, her lips quivering with unease. But the thief wasn't having any of it. The time for pliancy was over.

"This isn't an option Gwenevere!" He hollered, eyes wide and menacing. "You keep telling me you can fend for yourself-so show me!"

And with that pressuring declaration, he came at her.

Gwenevere yipped upon impact. Garrett was far harsher with her than the last time. It had been foreign and uncomfortable for him, colliding with a woman like that before. But now, he knew every corner of this woman's form, and there was a deep care for her welfare, where there had been only budding interest and duty prior.  
She winced as he held her still with one arm, then twisted her hand behind her back. He then proceeded to tear at her dress, causing a few of the buttons to come unstitched. The nymph struggled, but the position was difficult to escape from.

More importantly, Gwenevere didn't want to hurt her human.

Even whilst he manhandled her into a submissive position, the nymph refused to fight back. Garrett noticed this, and frowned. She kept insisting that she was ready-but if she couldn't even defend herself properly...

His Gwenevere, was an unimaginably beautiful creature. Garrett was sure there wasn't a vagrant debaucher out there who wouldn't try to have their way with her, if given the slightest chance. And with her bubbly and trusting nature, the thief was sure the girl would unwittingly give them more than a splitting moment to do the unthinkable. His mind burned with agonizing sickness, as the mental image of his Gwenevere being held down and raped was pulsed inward. It created an infuriating headache, reigniting the long diminished wrenching sensation behind his mechanical eye. Fueled by a newfound purpose, he pressured her to attack by twisting her captive arm harder. Gwenevere gulped at the sudden pain, and Garrett felt his heart capsize.

But it worked. Eyes drenched by this treachery, she elbowed him in the stomach.

Garrett sank to his knees with a wheezing gasp, his eyes wide with shock. Finally free, the nymph joined him on the floor, crying with guilt.

"Don't-" Garrett croaked, touching her knee, "-Gwenevere. I know...that this...was very hard for you...but...you have to promise me...if anyone...ever tries to...hurt you..."

The young woman began to slowly rub his aching stomach, halting him outright.

"Shhh..." she crooned, at last able to reclaim her jovial grin, "I promise. If anyone ever tries to hurt me, I'll cause them so much pain Garrett."

The thief found his breath, and smirked. His nymph certainly had a way with words.

"Good..." He panted. "That's good."

Shakily, Garrett started to stand. Gwenevere dusted off her legs and followed suit. The Master Thief, and his child-like apprentice stared into each other for several moments, silence coating the air like a dense mist.

He recalled the last time she'd passed this particular type of test. Back then, he could barely bring himself to hug her. The thief grinned with impish conquest.

"Come here." He swiftly barked, possessively wrapped his arm around Gwenevere's back, and pulling the unsuspecting girl against his body.

She closed her eyes as he pulled her close to his chest, gasping as she pressed her supple breasts firmly against his leather ensemble. Gwenevere moaned softly as he buried his face into her neck, stubble raking against her flesh, his teeth finding and devouring her earlobe.

"Gwenevere." He muttered, course breath finding her ear with a fiery passion.

"Y-yes Garrett?" The little nymph replied, her eyes glassy and half closed.

"You're so incredible." He whispered, and began kissing her neck.

How he had missed her essences; missed consuming her with unbridled passion! The scent of flowers and raw earth filled his nostrils as the young woman's heat exited her body. Her thighs grew moist like the dew of a plant at dawn. Wet with a mixture of sweat and something far more erotic. The thief kissed her again, then released her from his grasp. Removing his cape, he spread it out over the cold floor of the warehouse. Undoing the many fastens and straps of his outfit proved frustrating, and Garrett had to regain a certain amount of patience to keep himself from simply tearing the entire thing off.

He only managed to remove his top before the need to return to Gwenevere and her supple form, consumed him. He grabbed at his apprentice again with hungry desire, and threw her down upon the discarded ebony fabric. The untamed sound of passionate fervor resonated throughout the forgotten walls of the abandoned house that night.


	56. Chapter 56

**THE NEXT MORNING:**

Gwenevere awoke to a world of surreal cyan tranquility. Sunbeams danced and toyed with the dust and cobwebs as they struggled to shine their light down into this forgotten realm. The wood nymph was still comfortably nestled against her teacher, and he was still asleep. Gwenevere smiled, and felt as her eyelids grew heavy again. Perhaps, just five more minutes...

"Gwenevere." Garrett's voice nearly caused her to gasp, as the young woman had nearly drifted back into the world of slumber once more.

"Mmm?" She managed to reply, more or less awake now.

"Everyone who used to know about this place is dead. Why don't you and I just live here for a while?"

Gwenevere shot upright with a shocked expression. The question had been so unexpected, especially since she had thought the thief still asleep. She knew Garrett had a certain flair for the unexpected, but this?

"B-but...wait! I thought we were living with Sophie now." She peeped.

"That was always a temporary arrangement, Gwenevere," the thief grumbled, barely awake himself.

"Oh yeah..." The nymph muttered, a bit saddened. She had grown rather accustomed to living with Sophie.

"Besides, the-" Garrett began, but a gasp suddenly caught in his throat.

The children. It still seemed beyond possible. The loner rogue had given up on any chance of a family long ago, even before he'd watched Viktoria be viciously blown apart. The true reason, was perhaps one of the most revolting stains upon the thief's murky history.

Regardless, aside from Erin, Garrett had never considered ever fathering a child.

"-the seeds. They'll need a place to grow." He concluded, though his voice was strained and distant. The thief sat in disturbed recollection for much longer than he realized; disrupted only by a tender hand coming to rest upon his brow. Garrett jolted back to the present, his lost eyes meeting those of a very concerned Gwenevere.

"Are you alright?" She cocked her head.

"Yeah. I was just-" he squeezed his eyes shut, and reached for the pile of clothing he had been wearing the night before. "Here. I want you to have this. The City's a big place Gwenevere. If you're gonna be enjoying it alone, I don't want you getting lost."

He pulled free a small marked box, and pressed it into her soft hands. Gwenevere squeaked. She loved getting gifts-especially when they came from Garrett.  
She lifted the lid to reveal a small compass, and an awe-struck gasp involuntarily exited her lips. It was absolutely gorgeous-like no compass the young woman had ever seen before. Celtic knots carved attentively of green Jadeite encircled the needle and central body. But instead of a circular director, the compass rose-was an actual rose. Deep bloodstone, the coordinating directions engraved in a striking platinum. The needle itself was cobalt, a menacing ruby and amber Pagan eye affixing it to the body of Gwenevere's new tool.

"I thought it would be perfect for you." Garrett smirked, simply enjoying her moment of spellbound speechlessness.

"It's...absolutely gorgeous..." Gwenevere whispered, her eyes still locked onto the marvel she held with now trembling hands. Then she looked up at him, and began to smile sheepishly. "What is it?"

Garrett resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Only his Gwenevere could spend so much time around thieves and explorers, and not have the slightest inkling to what a compass actually was.

"It's a compass, Gwenevere," he murmured, "it uses the magnetized energy from deep within the earth to help you find your bearings."

"Ohhhh...so it's magic?" Her eyes grew livid with delight.

"No, I said it's _magnetic_." Garrett stressed the last word. "You see how it's pointing upwards? The compass will always show you where the north is. So long as you have a decent idea of where you want to get to, you should easily be able to get there using this. But a map might help as well." He scoffed.

"Huh. Well, as long as it helps me find my way home, either is fine by me!" She giggled. Placing the compass into her own pile of clothes, Gwenevere lurched her naked body forward, hugging him.

"Thank you Garrett!"

"Sure, no problem." He managed, but it was obvious that the man was still coping with unspoken conflict. Untranslated misery.

"Hey Garrett? That reminds me. You've been teaching me survival skills lately-but when are you gonna start teaching me to become a thief again?" The nymph questioned with an air of innocent eagerness.

But the thief, had mysteriously gone quiet...

****************************************************  
**ABANDONED MINING COMPOUND  
11:00 AM:  
**  
The usually serene confines of the mining tunnels, grew alive with visceral hatred. Furniture crunched, and a metal tray was sent slamming to the dirt floor; food and all. Amidst this cacophony of disaster, a young woman howled and snarled in animal-like tongue. The target of all this vile animosity? The Hammerite who had brought her lunch.

"Stupid Hammerhead! Badsie Hammerhead! BES DEADINGS YOU!" She declared, as she chucked her wooden cup at Derick Garrison.

The drink splashed against his iron armor, leaving the appalled man more drenched than injured. He stared at the crippled Pagan girl he'd so earnestly just tried to assist. Even if he was now indifferent towards her, she was clearly in no equal mindset. Derick stared transfixed into her luscious green eyes. So much anger; so much pain! The Hammer had never seen so much volatile emotion before.

"Please! I only wish to help you!" He protested, picking the now empty cup off the ground.

Ayeena was having none of it. Seeing the foul Hammerhead hunched over, she took the opportunity to throw her fork at his unguarded head. But Derick's reflexes had been tempered and honed by the greatest of Hammerites, and he managed to spot the utensil careening at him from the corner of his eye. The fork still caught the side of his face, slicing a long gash into his left cheek. He hollered in pain, dropping the wooden cup and grasping at his bleeding face. Ayeena grew frenzied at the sight. Revenge, finally felt like it was upon her. Finally, she could avenge the loss of her people-of her legs. Of her long-lost friend Gwenevere, whom she assumed had died trying to get her out.

"Helpers, yous already have..." She spat on him. "So lets me bes helpers you nows..."

The Pagan frantically scoured her bedside for anything else to chuck at her unrealized helper. Nellarose had left her dagger in reach...

"Ayeena! Cease this now!" Keeper Mcclay's monotone voice boomed with unexpected emphasis from the doorway. He was standing directly behind the injured Pagan's latest Hammerite victim.

The young savage glared at him through eyes laced with unrelenting contempt.

"Yous havers saved me, but this bes none ofs yous concernings!" She plucked the dagger from her bedside table, tore away the sheathe, and hurled it at her defenseless mark.

A chilling azure light shone from somewhere deep within Mcclay's eyes. With his mind-and an unspoken sorcery-he pulled the blade from the air. His hands remained stationary, and Ayeena was left dumbfounded as to how this unassuming elder could have manipulated space in such a profound way. The weapon scuttled to the floor, where the Keeper retrieved it.

Her mouth still hanging open, Mcclay ignored her and helped Derick Garrison to his feet. His face was still bleeding profusely, and one of the Hammerites ironclad gloves was now almost drenched with his own blood.

"Come now. You must tend to that with most haste." Mcclay instructed, leading Derick away from Ayeena's room.

Once they had gone about twenty feet down the sparsely lit tunnel, the Hammerite turned to his rescuer and halted his procession.

"Thanks be to you, for stopping her attack." He groaned, finally able to wipe Ayeena's mucus from his garments. "Tis' true-I am a servant of the Builder, and she is Pagan. But I have split from the others to find His true path, and I am no longer clouded by the old ways and judgements. I only wish to aid her...why can she not see that, Keeper?"

Keeper Mcclay, locked eyes with his existence inquiring guest.

"I can see that you're intentions and heart are both pure, young man. However, I think you'll find there is more than just your religious standing that sets you worlds apart from Ayeena."

"How do you mean?"

"Allow me to be blunt with you, Hammerite. She will never trust you-for she learned long ago, that trust was beyond her reach. It would probably be wise to just avoid the girl for the remainder of your time here."

With that, Mcclay assumed his pace, leaving Derick Garrison behind. The confused Hammerite reached for him as he continued off into darkness.

"K-Keeper?"

It soon became apparent that Keeper Mcclay wasn't coming back. Weak from blood loss, Derick propped his back against the edge of the tunnel, and slid down to his knees. Something in the old man's words bothered him, though. She learned long ago that trust was beyond her reach. Trust wasn't something that was to be limited to only certain individuals. Trust, was a necessity to life itself. The very foundation of benevolence and everything Derick Garrison had been taught.

If the smelter could not be trusted to withhold boiling metal, serious consequences and death would ensue. If his hammer could not be trusted not to splinter on impact, Derick would have found himself at The Builder's side years ago. Trust wasn't something he could imagine life without. All of a sudden, the Hammerite had a newfound pity for the crippled Pagan girl.

He began to reflect on his original mission-the hopes and beliefs he held for this religious odyssey of his. Spreading the Builder's good works, and flawless love.

Perhaps if she knew what he did about trust...

A newfound zest filled him, and Derick Garrison got to his feet with purpose. What the Hammerites had done to her was heinous-but the order was capable of great good as well. Something that the rogue Hammer now set off to prove to her. That evening, he fled the mining tunnels. His new destination?

The foreboding wood surrounding The City. Where the sworn enemies to his faction, resided in droves.

******************************************************************************  
**GROWER COMPOUND  
LATER THAT NIGHT:  
**  
The battle torn farmhold was silent, as the lone Hammerite stepped out from the receding forest. Derick leaned forward, the scenery below his hilltop vantage point still fresh with disaster. Most of the farmland folk seemed to be involved in various repair work; fixing broken fences, and tending to the traumatized cattle therein.  
He couldn't help it, as a sparse grin found his lips. So devoted in their laboring! Perhaps, finding common ground among these heretics would be easier than he had initially thought.

The Hammerite hadn't descended but ten feet down the hill, when he was abruptly hollered at by a passing Grower.

"Git offa our property, Hammer!" The middle-aged man hissed, violently rushing towards Derick with a rusty pitchfork. Acting on instinct, he withdrew the large hammer swung over his back, and brought it up protectively in front of his body.

The pitchfork clattered as its teeth caught around the pommel of the Hammerite weapon. The Grower cursed with fury, and struggled to pull his tool free.

"Peace, Grower! I have come to speak to your leader."

"Ye ain't welcome 'round these parts, Hammer! Take yer kind an' fancy words to the likes of someone who dun cares!"

"I wish to learn from your people, if you would permit me." Derick continued, trying to sound both direct and polite-which wasn't easy.

The farmer sneered up at him.

"Yer kind done and attacked us! Why the heck should any of us believe a damn word that's commin' outta yer mouth boy?!"

Derick pulled back on his weapon, causing the pitchfork to become unwedged. The Grower who had been tugging at it, fell flat on his behind. He groaned, then leered up expectantly at the responsible Hammerite.

"Listen. I know what they did. I was there." Derick bravely stilled himself for the worst. "But they are no longer my kind. I am alone now; searching for something."  
The Grower continued to stare up at his enemy, now completely bewildered.

"Ye've got a lot o' nerve there boy! Comin' inta Grower turf." He replied with a snort, getting to his feet. "Why should aye believe you?"

The Hammerite steadied his nerves. After replacing his hammer behind his back, he took a step forward. The farmer went for his pitchfork again, bringing it up to Derick's throat. A daring look found his grey eyes. Almost challenging the zealot before him to speak another word.

But what he hadn't counted on, was just how willing Derick Garrison was to meet such a challenge.

"A girl was captured during the battle, yes? Ayeena. Well, she's alive. I want to help her, but I need to speak to your leader to figure out how best to do that!"

"Ayeena? You know about Ayeena!" The Grower readied his pitchfork for a fatal stab. "Then you must be that there Hammer what abducted her!"

"No, Thompson! He ain't!" Another Grower's voice could be distinctly heard. The farmer lowered his tool, and spun around to greet his leader.

"Leader Dawson? How could you possibly know that?"

"I saw her. I saw the man who done knocked her unconscious-the man who loaded an' carried her back to The City on his horse. This, ain't him."

Derick Garrison faced the Grower Leader with a relived sigh. Now, they were finally getting somewhere!

"Are you the Grower Leader?" The eager Hammerite inquired.

"I'm askin' the questions here, Hammer!" Dawson barked. "So, you can start by tellin' us the truth. Because we know Ayeena ain't with ya!"

"Not with me, personally. She's with some Keeper. He allowed me to stay and atone for what the others did to her. That is why I have come to you, Grower."

Dawson's eyes widened. Keeper? The Conscripted One, was indeed a Keeper...

He was now completely lost as to why this Hammerite was here, but one fact was now obvious. If he was known by and trusted by the Conscripted One, then this man was no threat to the Growers.

"That's enough fer me. Come on back ta my barn. We can talk about what ya need there." Dawson beckoned for the burly zealot to follow. Thompson's face went pale.

"Leader Dawson? Have you done lost yer mind?!" The farmer's tone was now just shy of exasperated.

Dawson looked over his shoulder, a promising glimmer locked behind his deep green eyes.

"He knows the Conscripted One. That's enough fer me."

********************************************************

The Grower Leader lead his guest around to the back of the Landon family barn. Chance was waiting for his master there, and the dog growled when he noticed the outsider following behind his master.

"Quiet you!" Dawson shushed him, then rubbed the canine behind the ears. "He ain't here ta hurt nobody. Jus' wants ta learn a thing'er two."

Derick followed the Grower into the barn, and was immediately surprised by what he saw.

The Growers, by most, were regarded as a backwards group of heretics. Too advanced to live amongst the feral Pagans, too conservative and ignorant to integrate with the citygoers or Hammerites. They were truly an enigma. And if the state of their leader's barn was anything to go by, a grossly underestimated one.

The entire structure was a busy mess of light and smoke. Similar in appearance to an alchemical lab, with several forges and workbenches thrown in for good measure. Derick's keen eye for craftsmanship took in the convoluted interior of this unassuming shed, noting that every tool appeared well looked after-and well used.  
What was even more impressive, were the multitude of unrelated contraptions being built here. There were the expected items-horseshoes, cattle prods, and assorted farming tools. But then there were the various glistening phials, each filled neatly with a colorful, albeit unknown substance.

Dawson strolled amidst his many creations for several moments before facing the Hammerite, his hands shoved deeply into the pockets of his denim jeans.

"Whelp!" He exhaled a satisfied whistle. "This here's mah barn. We can make jist about anything ya'll can reckon here."

"Truly impressive." Garrison marveled, stroking his dark brown goatee. "Just about anything?"

"Yup! Jist so long as ya have one of them there blueprints."

"What if I don't?" The Hammerite inquired with a worried frown. Dawson stepped closer, his concern over the suspicious individual now at its limit.

"Stranger. I dunno what you came here for, but ya'll know the Conscripted One, an' that there validates ya in mah book. Still, I can't help but wonder why a Hammer would wanna help one of our own." Dawson pulled his rancher hat down over his eyes. "'Specially Ayeena. She ain't exactly no Grower, ya know? She a Pagan!"

"I know she is. That doesn't sway my decision in the slightest." Derick proclaimed.

"An' why is that?"

"Because. No matter what she believes, what happened to her was wrong. I want to help her overcome this trial."

Dawson looked out from under his hat with a look of bewilderment. His eyes gleamed like molten glass.

"What happened to her? Ya never did tell me that."

The Hammerite released a deeply troubled sigh. The image of the Pagan girl's shattered, useless legs had been forever branded into his subconscious. An uncontrollable shudder wracked his person.

"The High Priest. She engaged him directly the night he ordered his purge unto your people. He...had her captured, tortured, and left for dead. She managed to survive, but her legs were permanently damaged."

The strong man fought back tears of betrayal. His order had done so much to the Pagans beforehand. They were notorious for their holy wars against the blasphemous woodland folk. Derick Garrison's tears did not come for Ayeena-they came for his own heart. He had been indebted to the order since birth; and thus, he had turned a blind eye to these constant attacks. Never before had he thought to question whether an act of murder could ever be justified. Murder was a sin, was it not? It was all so conflicting, confusing. Perhaps the High Priest wanted it that way. This latest thought, caused the Hammerite to grow nauseous.

"Aye see..." The Grower leader slowly nodded. "Aye had hoped, since she was with the Conscripted One, that maybe he'd gotten her away from them in time...What a rotten thing to do..."

"It was this rotten act, which propelled me to leave the Hammerite organization. I will always worship The Builder, for he saved my soul. But I cannot condone an act of murder. Min eyes have been opened, and I now see what must be done for us to accomplish peace."

"Peace? Do ya really think that thar could ever really be peace, Hammer?" Dawson's expression was almost amused.

"We shall never know, if we never try to attempt it."

Dawson sighed, shaking his head.

"Yup. Yer a strange one alright." He pointed towards the various work stations within the barn. "But feel free ta go ahead and make what ya came here fer."

"I must admit, Leader Dawson. I do not know how to use thy specific forge or tools. Mayhaps, you can teach me?" Derick replied, rather embarrassed. Dawson gradually began to grin.

"Aww heck now! We ain't got need for any of that fancy talk 'round these parts! Come on Hammer; let Ol' Dawson show ya the ropes!"


	57. Chapter 57

His visit to Mystic Manor, had already met with a troublesome snag...

Green eyes stared up into those of metal and shadow, full of fear and fading consciousness. Garrett held the terrified woman firm, though her green eyes were making it difficult to look away from her delirious, flushed face. He pressed the ether cloth tighter over her mouth and nose, feeling her squirm. The thief still followed his code, and nothing had changed when it came to his work. But for some reason, he did find it harder to overwhelm girls with green eyes.

"Shhh..." He encouraged her to just give in to the suffocating haze that enshrouded her.

The thief looked away as her eyes began to roll back and weakly flutter closed. Garrett felt as her body fell into a warm, limp pile atop his lap. He then lifted the unconscious maid, and set her atop a navy blue sofa.

He wondered what Gwenevere would think of him, had she seen him do this. Over the course of her training, the young woman had witnessed her thief incapacitate plenty of guards and male servants. But she'd never seen the true extent of Garrett's determination. His unhindered drive to complete each given heist like clockwork.  
Like any predator of the night, the thief did what he had to in order to ensure his own survival and success.

This sometimes included incapacitating women, and on rare occasions, children as well. However, the thief always used wool cloths drenched in ether, or gas bombs to deal with these sparse cases. Something about hitting a child over the head always caused Garrett's stomach to churn. What precisely, he couldn't say. But it most likely had to do with his sister's death at the hands of the Hammerites.

As with many pieces of his tangled past, Garrett had told Gwenevere just enough to sate her voracious curiosity.  
Even if his judgement had been lacking months earlier-with the entire Erin fiasco-the thief still believed that it was best to never answer questions, unless directly asked. As such, it wasn't just his parents whom had been bludgeoned to death that night.

"Focus on the job. It's all about the job." Garrett began to perspire as that timeless mantra of his began to ease his budding anxiety; and horrendous flashbacks.

With quaking breath, the thief took a few steps away from the woman's comatose form, and gradually regained his drive. As she'd explained, Gwenevere's ring had been enough to trip the mages security system, granting Garrett easy access. That was of course, until he'd run into that maid. Just as he was about to resume his search for Asteriah's chaos elements, a joyous voice rang like fairy bells within his ears. The thief's mouth gaped open, his eyes contracting fully.

It was Gwenevere.

With unrivaled agility, Garrett spun around and locked eyes with her. But the moment he did so, his heart sank into an icy sea of despair.

The young woman was wearing her apprentice garb. Dark hunters green material, complimented by a pair of tawny leather boots. A blonde rabbit pelt satchel hung from a matching leather belt, and her hair had been done up into a practical ponytail. Gwenevere, hadn't worn that outfit, since taking her job at the Nethalzian Bistro, and abandoning her thief training. And now, just as the thief was mentally preparing himself to deter her from that path which he had urged her back into following, here she was.

Prepared to follow her mentor into the jaws of disaster.

"Gwenevere! What the taff are you doing here?!" He hissed in a low, menacing whisper.

"Well, isn't it obvious?" The nymph giggled, her ponytail bobbing as she leaned forward onto her toes, "I came to help you!" Garrett shook his head.

"How did you find out where I'd gone?" He asked, the entire situation surreal to him. Gwenevere's playful smile, gave way into a deeply disturbed glare.

With thin, trembling fingers, the nymph reached up and removed her contact.

Garrett, was rendered breathless.

He froze to the spot, and it was as if the room grew somehow darker. A feeling of utter paralysis now took hold, his feet firmly glued to the ground as that damned eye slowly pushed forward. Lost within that maddening yellow optic, the thief's feet remained adhered to the ground and it was now impossible to look away from that amber demon eye.

"My eye showed me. It can see things-things only the wood beast could see. I just used the compass to find the way." She giggled again.

The carefree blissfulness of her tone seemed to somehow break the spell her eye held on Garrett. He abruptly diverted his gaze from hers, and retraced from all previous emotion.

"Gwenevere!" Garrett hissed, "Why the hell would you follow me?! You're still healing!"

His words saddened the girl. Gwenevere replaced her contact, and began to frown.

"I know that's not the real reason you excluded me from this mission." She mumbled, kicking up the carpet with her boots.

"Gwenevere, I don't have time for this..."

"You can trust me Garrett!" the furious nymph interrupted him, "But the real question is, can I trust you?!"

Garrett's face betrayed his long standing inner turmoil with his student's dismissal. Her unassuming question had been answered internally for the man, and it was an extremely discomforting, 'no'."

No, she couldn't trust him-despite what he'd been telling her from day one. He was a criminal; a selfish, callous thief. And unlike his constantly evolving Gwenevere, Garrett would never change.

Breathing heavily, he grabbed at her shoulders, pressing her into the opposite wall. Gwenevere's eyes flew open as a hot mouth enveloped her burgundy lips; his tongue thrusting them apart. Her body softened, her green eyes glazed over with absolute thrill.

And when he unexpectedly broke away, she was left dazed and panting.

"This isn't about trust. It's about risk. This, is an expert mission Gwenevere, and you're not ready for it." Garrett reprimanded, once again trying to detach himself from her, despite the coiling of tongues and heated passion seconds earlier.

"But I've been here before!" She cried, stomping her foot. If a nymph could feel anything akin to sexual frustration, the cause of her reaction was probably close.

"I don't care!" He hissed slowly. "You're not going in there."

Seeing that this wouldn't get her anywhere, Gwenevere decided to try a much more playful approach.

"Aww, why not?" The nymph pleaded, her eyes wide. "You...you haven't taken me on a heist, since the Hammerite place..."

The thief felt his throat go dry. He could still hear the sound of Gwenevere's ribs snapping underneath the sheer force of the zealot's mighty weapon. A stern frown crossed his worn face, while a bitter shudder silently traversed his spine.

He'd taught her well. He'd promised himself to keep her safe as best he could from the shadows.

Now, it was time to let her go.

"Gwenevere, about tonight's heist..."

"Oh, it's gonna be so fun! A little scary and difficult at parts, but wow! What an adventure! Never thought I'd see this ol' place again!" She giggled.

"Listen, Gwenevere."

The nymph held in her excitement to allow Garrett to speak. What followed, was one of the most arduous moments of the Master Thief's entire existence.

"Gwenevere. I...I don't think this is such a good idea after all. You being a thief. I mean, I know you want to learn so you can help people, but...the truth is Gwenevere, you're setting yourself up for failure. I've known many, many criminals and thieves, and you aren't anything like them."

The nymph smiled in an interested, reassuring sort of way. The thief couldn't help but notice that she seemed even more childish with her hair pulled back-and her eyes appeared much greener and wider than before.

"Garrett, I know you're worried about me, but...but something inside is just telling me that I have to do this! I can't really explain it, but helping people is my calling! I need you to help me do that!"

The thief sighed hard, realizing that this was not going to be easy. He hadn't wanted to be blunt with her. The inside of a mansion occupied by some of the most powerful magic users in the land, was the last place he'd wanted to have this life-changing conversation with his pupil. But she had foolishly followed him out here, and it was now part of his mission objective, to get her to leave. For her own safety alone. Garrett glanced back in the direction of the maid sprawled across the sofa.

_By any means necessary._

"Gwenevere, listen to me! With the risks you've been taking, I cannot support your decision to become a thief anymore. I'm sorry, but it's my responsibility to keep you safe. You nearly got yourself killed back at the Hammerite Cathedral because you allowed sentiment to get the better of you. A true thief, would never do that. And as much as I really don't want to admit it Gwenevere, you're no thief. You never will be."

That last statement, hit Gwenevere hard. Her eyes widened, and Garrett could tell that she had been immediately crushed by what he had said.

"What?!" A sigh rattled free from Gwenevere's throat. Her eyes grew wide, and her stomach went cold.

She'd dedicated her life to being by Garrett's side. To helping him, and making him proud.

She thought he understood all the time and dedication she'd sacrificed-thought he appreciated it. But she was wrong. Betrayal is a tricky thing. It creeps itself between the folds of smiles and trust. It beckons to those with good intentions, or unguarded hearts. It ravages the soul, feeding on ones sincerity. It comes from those you treasure most. And right now, it was eating Gwenevere alive.

"How could you do this?" She whispered, as the tears streamed away from her eyes.

"Gwenevere. I don't want to do this." Garrett reassured, resisting the urge to embrace her. He knew that would only complicate the already difficult situation-and he still had a very dangerous job ahead of him. His judgement could not be clouded.

Gwenevere gawked at up him, her expression one of complete disbelief. Hot rage gradually began to bud and grow beneath her flesh. Wild green eyes transfixed upon those of her trusted mentor.

"Then why are you?!" She screamed, tasting as some of her salty tears drizzled into her gaping mouth.

"Because you're going to get yourself killed, Gwenevere!" Garrett yelled back at her, his inner concern no longer able to be contained. "You're not thief material, and I was a complete idiot for taking this further than I should have!"

And with that brutally honest statement, it happened.

Like an icicle torn free in an unrelenting blizzard, the nymph snapped. Woodsie lore and lost Trickster tomes were both just as cryptic and useless in foretelling of the hideous vitality that now flooded every chasm of that girl. Her green and gold eyes flew open, and she tore the contact from her disabled feature. That was when Garrett felt his blood freeze. The wood beast eye, dilated into a thin black slit. It burned with a smoldering rage as she stared up at him, as the thief silently watched his undone protégé grow frenzied.

Gwenevere shook, loosening the handkerchief that held her ponytail. It silently fluttered to the royal blue carpeting, leaving her wavy red hair feathered out and tangled. She hissed and sputtered like a rabid animal as her mind silently fractured, leaving only a primal huntress in its wake.

Garrett didn't move, his body rendered near catatonic by the sight of his Gwenevere being driven into madness-by his hand.

He couldn't understand what she was saying anymore, her speech had broken off into high-pitched gibberish minutes ago. She slowly locked eyes with her former master, and lunged at him. Garrett's quick reflexes managed to protect his face, but he winced as her teeth dug into his leather arm guard. Only his mechanical eye remained open as he fought to dislodge the bestial nymph. When her teeth eventually tore into his arm, he released a loud shout.

The sound of his painful scream caused the girl's fading sanity to steady, returning her to conscious thought. Gwenevere's eyes returned to normal size, and the first thing she noticed was the sensation of salty copper within her mouth. Blood. And furthermore, it was Garrett's blood.

She would know his scent anywhere, but that wasn't what clued her in this time. It was the fact that her fangs were still locked around his arm. Instantly, she released him, his blood still pouring from the torn mess of leather and dark material. The thief grabbed at his injury, placing pressure on the monstrous wound. He hadn't even noticed Gwenevere's return to present.

When he did manage to look at her, the thief was met with the widest pair of eyes that he had ever seen.

"I-I'm sorry..." Gwenevere shuddered, shakily backing away from him.

Her tears were so thick, that she stumbled as she receded back into the surrounding room. Still stunned, Garrett's mind fought to prompt him into motion.  
_  
She's running away damn it! Stop her!_

"Gwenevere, wait!"

But the tortured girl did not stop, nor did she look back. His Gwenevere was now more nymph than she had ever been before, and the wild creature easily evaded capture. Garrett started after her, his arm still bleeding profusely. He was helpless to object, as the wild creature he had nurtured for almost a full year dashed out the double doors of Mystic Manor, and off into the darkness of the tangled wood.


	58. Chapter 58

_She ran from that place as if her life were in peril; despite the fact that the thief had just taken all of her will to live with one careless flick of his callous tongue. Memories of earlier that Spring-of the nightmare they'd lived through at the Moira Asylum. He'd told her to go, told her that he never wanted to see her again.  
Tonight wasn't like that._

_Garrett still wanted her around, but Gwenevere was running from him of her own volition. Because he had betrayed her. Broken her trust. Slandered her very dreams of becoming a vigilante and helping this dying city. Despite all he had told her, he had never believed her capable of that goal. Empty promises strewn together with well-intentioned lies. How often passion twists lies into comfort._

_The nymph could still taste his blood in her mouth as she ran, her eyes so full of sappy tears that it was getting difficult to see two feet in front of her. Thick brush and vines tugged at her as the young thing ran ever further from civilization. The outfit she and Sophie had worked so hard on over multiple weeks, was now full of mud and rips from the dense forest._

_Eventually, the inevitable consequence of running blindly in the darkness took its toll. With a shriek, Gwenevere felt her foot entangle within a strawberry patch, and tumbled to the ground. She lay there, unwilling to move any more. As if in response to her surrender, the balmy summer sky burst open, and pelted her listless form with warm rain. Sticky golden tears, and the last of her thief's blood washed away under the relentless downpour, leaving the little nymph relatively clean and silent._

_She began to relax, there amidst the soft leaves and moist soil. It had been so very long, since she'd sought comfort from the earth like this. The forest was her home, and no matter how long she stayed away either by choice or force, this would always be the truth. She was a wild creature, a being of fantasy and danger. Perhaps it was high time for her to accept that._

_Garrett's words from earlier that evening still resonated with a cruel pang at the back of her skull:_

_I've known many, many criminals and thieves, and you aren't anything like them._

_Was this, perhaps because she wasn't human? Was that what he meant? Had he always felt this way about her? Gwenevere felt as her body shuddered with pain. In response, it began to shift; her human guise slowly fading away to reveal the verdant greens and burgundy accents of her feral form. A soft whisper at the back of her mind, screamed pretender. It admonished the girl for playing human for so long. For sacrificing her god blood, and both of her terrifying Pagan beast forms for the love and safety of a pitiful human._

_And if any of these dark wonderings invading her mind were true, then perhaps the whisper was correct to scold her. Maybe this entire dream of hers, was a big mistake._

_"Humans will never truly understand us. Even the goodsie ones of the forest, kit."_

_Viktoria had once proclaimed, for she sometimes called her last-born sapling, kit-stating that Gwenevere's curious and feisty nature was comparable to that of a baby fox._

_"We are the Trickster's Maidens. We were created by his hands to guard his glens; to frolic amidst the greensie things that make our world so beautiful and rich. We cannot afford the luxery of trust, gentle kit. We can never trust the humans."_

_These were words which Gwenevere had never believed; until tonight._

_Garrett had indeed been correct. The thief had been scolding her since the start of her apprenticeship, of the dangers of trust. But it was his own deception that would inevitably lead the girl to never trust anyone again._

***********************************************************

**SOPHIE'S SAFEHOUSE  
THAT EVENING:**

There was a Keeper in her living room. That was Sophie's first thought as she finished the last of the dishes, just in time for dinner. Hesitant, she poked her head around the corner to examine him. Mcclay was still resting within her armchair, the steam wafting from his coffee a clear indicator that it was still far too hot to drink.  
In all honesty, she was fretting going in there. While it was true that Sophie had extended this invite in the first place-her chance to speak with the wayward sage whilst Garrett and his dryad apprentice were out on yet another job-the boxman's sister wasn't entirely sure why she had wanted to.

Perhaps it was more of those pesky pent-up paternal instincts seeping their way into her life. After all, Keeper Mcclay had taken an unmistakable interest in Gwenevere-who was like a daughter to her. Perhaps, Sophie merely wished to examine forthright, if his intentions were pure. But Keeper Mcclay, seemed hardly a daunting face. The man was collected, sullen, and ever kindhearted. His manners were akin to the nobles; minus all of the pretentious snobbery. Mcclay treated everyone-including Garrett at his absolute worst-with a mutual respect.

So Sophie was left to sincerely ponder, if she truly was worried about Gwenevere's involvement with the man. Or was this invite for someone else's benefit entirely?

_Ridiculous!_ The middle-aged woman briskly shook her head, causing some of her messy brown hair to fall against her fretted brow.

She felt sheepish for even considering such things. After all, Sophie was forty-three now-far beyond the age when most women considered courtship. All of her friends were already married with children by this point in their lives. Some would even be celebrating their silver anniversary later that year.

Sophie bit her bottom lip as she re-adjusted her bun. She looked down at her feet, feeling more timid than she had ever felt before. All because of the intriguing hooded gent situated in her living room. Pilfur was staring up at her now, his green eyes alive with an almost mocking luster.  
_  
It's not easy for me, alright?_ She reasoned internally, locking eyes with the judgmental feline. _I haven't been interested in such things..._

Sophie bit her bottom lip, a darkened stranger draped in black racing across the haze of her recollections. Coming through a purposefully left open bedroom window, beckoning to her in a hesitant, gravelly tone which in her younger years, she found absolutely irresistible. Toying with a strand of her long chocolate brunette hair, as if it were some foreign thing that he had no idea what to do with-but nevertheless-enjoyed touching with those long, stiff fingers.  
_  
For a very long time...  
_  
She glanced down at Pilfur again. He blinked, never letting his gaze leave that of his anxiety-ridden caregiver. Not a single mew passed those intent, splayed whiskers. The cat wasn't hungry, this much Sophie knew. Else, he would have demanded food with that raucous protest seemingly far too loud for such a tiny body. No. It wasn't food he wanted. It was something else.

Her grey-blue eyes went wide, trembling with awe. Was he, trying to urge her forward? She highly doubted it. Sophie wasn't an animal person, and she did not believe that animals could convey any sort of message to their human masters. But regardless, she found the cat's display a bit too uncanny. Taking a deep breath to banish such silly thoughts, she entered the living room.

"It was pleasantly unexpected to be invited back to your abode, m'lady." The Keeper looked up from his coffee, and smiled at her. He blew softly against his steaming drink. Sophie shuffled her feet nervously.

"Please, Mr. Mcclay. Call me Sophie." Her fumbling caused the elder's warm smile to lengthen.

"Ah, Sophie. I shall remember it in the future. However, if this is to be the case, you must also remember that I asked you to call me Cedric at dinner last week." The clever man countered with a twinkle in his eye.

"I-" She stepped backwards, her face reddening like a young maiden's. Sophie was inexperienced at love, and it showed. "I didn't forget, I just..."

"It is quite alright, Sophie." Mcclay winked, finally taking a sip of his coffee. The boxman's sister seemed to relax as he drank. That is, until the Keeper looked up at her again.

"So, whatever is the occasion for this most unexpected invitation?" He asked.

Sophie froze.

What was the reason for this little invite of hers? She still didn't have a clear answer; save that she wanted to see Keeper Mcclay again. But she certainly couldn't tell him _that_! It would be both foolhardy and reckless. And besides, Keepers did not engage in matters of the heart. Or if they did, it was hidden well. For such blatant acts of unbalance, were profoundly forbidden. Regardless, Keeper Mcclay would never reciprocate such desires. Or so she thought.

"I..." The older woman began, still brimming with anxiety. "L-let's eat dinner first, eh?" Sophie attempted to feebly distract the man. In actuality, Keeper Mcclay was indeed distracted-but it was by something else.

"Ah, has young Gwenevere informed you of my interest in food?" He gave her a clever grin.

"Actually, no she didn't. I just thought it would be nice to have a guest over for dinner tonight."

"I see." Mcclay was slightly disappointed by her answer, although he tried hard not to allow it to show.

"You...weren't too busy, were you?" Sophie gave him a worried frown, obviously mistaking his disappointment for annoyance.

"Not as such. Since the Hammerite has disappeared from my sanctum, I feel safe leaving Sandris in charge while I go about what I please." The man gave a tired, yet satisfactory groan, turning his head to further admire the intricate wallpaper of Sophie's living room.

"Oh, is that so?" His host chuckled. "So you have more of them with you. How nice!"

"Beg pardon?" Mcclay stared up at her through tired eyes.

"I, just assumed Tobias was your only child." Sophie blushed.

"Neither Tobias nor Sandris are my children. At least, not by blood." The Keeper corrected.

"Oh my! I'm so sorry!" The middle-aged pauper's hands flew to her lips in embarrassment. "I must seem like such a horrible hostess; making weighty assumptions like that..."

"Twas an honest mistake, dear lady," the Keeper comforted. His wrinkled smile seemed to emanate a warmth and tranquility which Sophie wasn't entirely familiar with.  
"You are a very generous man..." was all she could manage to offer in response.

"All a man can do within such matters, is try. I claim to be no gentleman; but I do strive towards such." He softly answered. Sophie brushed a stray strand of greying brunette behind her ear.

"Keeper Mcclay? I've been meaning to ask you something." She managed to regain herself just a bit, and the rosy blush receded from her cheeks.

"Yes? What would you wish of me?" Keeper Mcclay leaned forward in his chair, interlocking his bony fingers with intrigue.

"You...you seem to care quite a bit about Gwenevere. I'm just curious as to why." She managed to answer him, though her words were only shades of what she intended to say, and her palms were sweltering profusely.

The Keeper's dark eyes sparked with a conclusion.

"Ahh. So you believe what the thief does then. That I intend to brainwash the girl for my own personal gain, eh?" Mcclay smirked.

"Do you?" Sophie raised an eyebrow. His rare jovial grin retracted immediately; giving way to a serious, albeit hurt expression.

"Absolutely not!" The Keeper snorted in an infuriated tone which Sophie would have guessed, too aggressive for his nature.

"Then what are your intentions, Cedric?" Sophie finally pressed him. The fires of her Black Alley Angel days blazed with infernal guardianship within those steel grey eyes.

Keeper Mcclay, calmed himself profusely before continuing, "Garrett was burned by the Keepers, yes. I have no quarrel with Keeper Artemus-gods rest his soul-but as much as he loved that boy, he failed to teach him pacing. And as such, most of that burn was Garrett's own doing." Mcclay explained.

"As I always suspected." Sophie nodded. "But what of Gwenevere? She is not a novice or an acolyte within your order like Garrett was. For that, I could understand why your order constantly followed him around. But why Gwenevere?"

"Two reasons, Sophie." Mcclay took another sip of his cooling drink. "Firstly, Gwenevere is part of a string of prophecies that I have been charged to investigate. And secondly..." The elder abruptly stopped, and then fell silent.

"Secondly?" Sophie prompted. Keeper Mcclay stared up at her through guilt-stricken, unimaginably sorrowful eyes.

"I owe her that much." His voice trembled with a deep remorse.

"You...owe her? Why?"

"Do you have children, Sophie?" Mcclay changed the subject, although his eyes were still horrendously saddened.

"I never had the pleasure." She crossed her arms. "But what does this have to do with what you owe Gwenevere? Or why?"

"We Keepers are always taught balance. From our first hours within the order as budding novices, to that fateful day when we too take on our own charges. However, we are constantly reminded never to connect with our wards too deeply. We are teachers, not parents. Of course, I have yet to see the difference for myself." Keeper Mcclay frowned.

"Are you sure they would want you telling an outsider all of this?" Sophie questioned, slightly concerned. The old man shot her a bemused look.

"I'll assume that Garrett has already spoken openly of us to you, Sophie. After all, you two were once very close, yes?"

Sophie's face went red a second time.

"That was a very, very long time ago. These days, Garrett's perfectly content to pretend I don't exist." She replied in a bittersweet tone. Her answer seemed to upset the Keeper.

"I see..." His expression took on a look of pity. "I'm terribly sorry, m'lady."

"That doesn't matter." The boxman's sister broke the awkward pause. "What were you trying to tell me, Cedric?" She feigned a weak smile.

"Ahh, yes. Terribly sorry. As I was saying, children need teachers, just as much as they need parents. Preferably, their caretakers should strive to be both. Artemus knew this, as he should. After all, he was once my own ward."

Keeper Mcclay didn't stall long enough for his host to figure out the glaringly obvious issues with this statement. Such as, that Artemus was already a man in mid-sixties when he was murdered. And that, had been almost sixteen years ago; rendering Keeper Mcclay, a man well past his hundredth year of life.

"But he was not my last. That honor would graciously fall to my current pupil, Tobias."

"Ah, I see. So Tobias is learning from you." Sophie commented. Mcclay nodded.

"I found him late one January's eve. A toddler abandoned to the snow and chill by his blood parents. The people both society and lineage had dictated to be his family, had cast him out to die, for fear of his magical abilities." The Keeper's tone fluctuated into a mixture of anger and passion.

"I found him huddled around a fire, possessing neither base nor tinder. It was controlled by this extraordinary child's raw willpower. To throw away; to...blatantly reject such potential out of fear and intolerance...sometimes I seriously must question what sort of a world I'm living in..."

Sophie wiped away a few tears from her eyes. She still didn't know what Keeper Mcclay wanted with Gwenevere. But at least now, she was convinced that he was a very good man.

"Cedric..." She began, taking a few concerned paces towards her guest. Mcclay looked up at her, his eyes wide and grief-stricken.  
**  
KU-THUNK!  
**  
The door to Sophie's safehouse slammed open, rattling her from any tender thoughts or concerns. A sudden glint of blue caught the corner of her eye, and before she even had time to release a startled scream, Keeper Mcclay was before her. His ancient arms were held out, the airy brown sleeves of his robe billowing with a supernatural radiance. He was poised directly in front of her, and it was at that moment Sophie suddenly realized why. Someone or, something, had just entered her home.

Keeper Mcclay, was preparing himself to protect her.

Keepers can battle, better than any other faction. However, they dislike the art of conflict, preferring to solve problems discreetly, or through third parties. Sophie had never seen a Keeper engage in combat before, thankfully. Most fought with ranged attacks, some with swords. Very much like Garrett, when the need arose. But Mcclay did not appear armed, thus Sophie reasoned that he relied solely on the arcane arts.

She had no idea what sorts of magic the Keepers employed, although Garrett had once divulged to her that the glow of these powers was a bluish white. Perhaps this was what unnerved the middle aged woman so. Keeper Mcclay's magical essences were glowing from his unassuming hands now-and they were glowing a sickly shade of purple. Almost black.

But the Keeper would have no need of his mighty powers on that eve. For what burst into the living room, was no threat. It was a panting, rain-soaked Gwenevere. But there was something wrong about her.

Her usually playful luster, was all but diminished.


	59. Chapter 59

Her eyes were dark, depressed. Her gait broken and weak. With a cold exhale, the boxman's sister rushed to her surrogate daughter's side. Gwenevere willingly collapsed into her awaiting arms.

"Sweetie?! Sweetie! Gwenevere, what has happened?" The middle-aged woman demanded.

Her mind was racing with questions, all of them equally worrisome and unanswerable. Where was Garrett? What was wrong with Gwenevere? Maternal devotion took center stage, as Sophie leaned over her daughter, and stared intently into her face.

But the moment the little nymph locked eyes with her, Sophie immediately wished she hadn't. A cruel demon eye gleamed with unnatural light, alongside an unimaginably green optic, drizzled with thick yellow tears. Gwenevere stared at her, letting the horror and repulsion within Sophie's human gaze drill more pain into her already punctured heart.

"Gwenevere?" Sophie finally gathered her own emotions enough to speak.

Gwenevere answered her call by sitting up on her knees. She pulled her ruby bangs down over her left eye.

"I'm sorry you had to see that, Sophie. I lost my contact..." Sophie frowned. The hurt she had just unwittingly caused the nymph, burned her insides like flesh to a flame.

"Gwenevere, what happened out there tonight? Why aren't you with Garrett?" She touched the young woman's cheek, "sweetheart, what happened out there?"

Silence, engulfed the room. The coo-coo clock poked its head out to celebrate midnight's arrival. Heavy rain pelted against the window panes. Keeper Mcclay, inaudibly cleared his throat.

"I-I came to say goodbye. I need to be alone for a while." Gwenevere managed to peep. Sophie's eyes widened.

"Alone? I-I don't understand..." Sophie shook her head, flustered by all of this.

Gwenevere let her posture slump, feeling as the tears began to flow again. A gentle hand unexpectedly clapped against her shoulder, prompting her to look up. It was Keeper Mcclay.

"I think, I do." The elder gave her a sympathetic smile. "I understand the need for solitude, young Gwenevere. However, you know where my hideout is, and you are welcome there anytime you like."

"K-keyper Mcclay..." Gwenevere shuddered, her eyes filling with tears again-but of a different nature entirely this time.

"Well dear, if you need some time away, at least remain in contact with those who care about your welfare." The boxman's sister sniffed, and nodded up at her Keeper visitor, "at least, until you figure out what you're going to do next. But all the same, I would be more than happy to keep you here with me, if you'd like."

"I think I want to go with Keyper Mcclay. Garrett doesn't know where he lives." Gwenevere commented. Her voice was shaky and apprehensive; like that of a man with a knife placed to his throat.

"Gwenevere?" Sophie's eyes darkened," what do you mean dear? What happened?"

Gwenevere looked down at her knees again, empty and silent.

"I don't want to talk about it right now." She whispered.

There was a murky distance in her tone; one that immediately lead Sophie to realize that the thief was somehow involved in this entire mess.

_Damn you, Garrett..._

She knew that Garrett would hurt her again, if left unchecked. Even if he cared for the jovial creature, the thief was a methodical mind. Cynical and stubborn to a fault, there was no room in his thoughts for empathy.

That, was perhaps his greatest flaw of all.

"Well, alright dear. But I'm here if you change your mind," Sophie smiled warmly, desperate to suppress the rage that now concentrated itself within her soul.

"Now, let's get your things together then."

Gwenevere wiped her eyes with a nod. Taking her human mother's hand, she rose from the floor. Pilfur was watching her from the kitchen, and Gwenevere instantly ran over and scooped him up.

"Oh Pilfur!" She cried into his satin fur, listening to his gentle purring. Mcclay and Sophie, both smiled.

"Little brother missed you, dearie. You should take him with you this time." The older woman explained.

"Uh-huh!" Gwenevere's voice was muffled by the cat's warm fur. She was getting him all sticky with her sappy tears, but Pilfur didn't seem to care. He knew she needed his comforts.

"Young Gwenevere," the Keeper generously stepped closer. She looked up, and blinked at him. "We must leave quickly, lest Garrett return unannounced."

"Wise advice. He's real good at that." The nymph remarked, although there was a sourness in place of praise covering her words.

"Oh, and dear! You should take whatever you're growing too. Plants can't survive without constant love and attention." Sophie winked, hoping that the cleverly concealed metaphor would give her child something to ponder.

Gwenevere set Pilfur down, and the feline instantly began to lick the sap from his fur. It was going to be a long process indeed.

Sophie scooped up the three plants from her kitchen window ledge, and set them down atop the table. Gwenevere trotted over, and proceeded to water, and replace each of her children into the three burlap sacks. The boxman's sister watched through curious, intense eyes.

"Ya know, I've been meaning to ask-what are you growing, dear?"

Gwenevere shot up, rocking the table. She stared at Sophie with a look of utter surprise.

"You mean you don't know?"

"Ummm, sorry no hun. I've never had a very green thumb. I can't tell a radish from a carrot-unless it's been matured and picked, of course!" She joked. A soft smile found the little nymph's face for the first time that entire night.

"Well, are you free next week? I could come visit you then." Sophie squinted her eyes, a little confused as to why Gwenevere couldn't just tell her what she was growing. Reasoning that the girl was probably just upset, the older woman nodded.

"Alright dearie! I'm off Thursday, so feel free to drop by anytime after ten. I need my beauty sleep, after all!" Sophie chuckled.

Out the corner of her blue-grey eyes, she thought she saw the faintest blush adorn the Keeper's face; but only for a second.

"Ooh! Sounds great!" Gwenevere giggled, "we could make a day of it! You know? Wear nice clothes, go out on the town-that sort of thing!"

"That sounds grand, Gwenevere!" Sophie began to laugh.

As the nymph girl finished lovingly tucking the last of the three loam pots within their burlap sacks, Sophie approached her. She looked down at her surrogate daughter-the blessing she never thought she deserved.

"Gwenevere. There's something I want you to have." She began, voice suddenly opposite from the jolly tone she'd displayed moments earlier. Her voice was now extremely serious. The nymph must have been taken aback by this shift, because her face took on a look of worry.

"Yes Sophie? Whatever is the matter?" She cocked her head.

"When I was young, as well as a little crazy, I made a promise to guard the poor and desperate from the unfair, and often violent grips of the law. You see, Gwenevere. I was once a very, _very_ dangerous woman. They called me the Black Alley Angel, because I was like a savior to the unscrupulous bunch of taffers who made Black Alley their home. I wanted to tell you, because I know that you have dreams of doing the same. This city has changed-it's grown corrupt and sick. People need vigilantes again."

With those words, and Gwenevere held awestruck, Sophie grabbed the dagger off of the fireplace. She gingerly slipped the weapon into the nymph's shaking hands.

"They need, you Gwenevere."

"S-Sophie?" Gwenevere stammered, confused.

"You can't overdo it with your magic out there, Garrett told me. But I think this may hold the solution to that. This was my weapon of choice, back in my days as a guardian to the people. I want the new age vigilante to have it now, so I need you to make me a promise, Gwenevere: Take up my blade, and save this city!"

"Why didn't you ever tell me any of this before?" The nymph wondered, tracing and admiring the exotic craftsmanship of her new tool. Sophie smiled warmly at her.

"Because, you were so dead set on becoming a thief. You worshipped Garrett, and I did not want to come between that. But something has changed that dynamic, I can sense it."

Gwenevere gasped at her words, and her bottom lip proceeded to tremble fiercely. Before she could shed anymore tears, Sophie's fingers grasped behind her thin jawbone, prompting the girl to look up.

"It's okay, Gwenevere. I know it hurts. But sometimes, the best way to deal with pain, is to let it teach you. Learn the lessons it has for you, and detour from the old road. You've followed Garrett's plan for almost a year now. Perhaps the time has come, to start following your own plan."

"B-but without Garrett, I don't know how..." Gwenevere sniffed.

"Gwenevere," Sophie smiled, stroking her finger against the nymph's sticky cheek, "you always knew what you wanted to do. That is why you first came to Basso. You thought becoming a thief would help even the amount of gold between the nobles and the paupers of this city. But there are other ways to bring hope and justice to the poor."

"Indeed." Mcclay suddenly spoke up, "and I can help you figure out another road to the truth you seek."

"Keyper Mcclay? Sophie?" Gwenevere was on the brink of sobbing again. "Thank you! Thank you both so very much!" She embraced her human mother, who cried along with her.

"Of course, my dear. I'll always be here for you." Sophie squeezed tighter.

From a distance, Keeper Mcclay smiled. He would always be there for her, as well.

"Young Gwenevere? We must take our leave now." The elder instructed.

Gwenevere heeded his words, and ran down the hall to gather up the rest of her belongings from the guest room. While she was away, Sophie turned to her guest.

"Preserve her, Keeper."

"I shall, m'lady. I shall."


	60. Chapter 60

A soul not severed from emotion by a convoluted, toxic mixture of teaching and personal protection, would have cried. A lesser man would have grieved then and there. Fallen to his knees in mourning for a lost love, driven away by his own cruel hand. But Garrett was not, nor had he ever considered himself, such a breakable individual. He hid suffering through clenched teeth, and burning blood. Laments of, "focus on the job. It's all about the job" and, "she chose to run-let her be alone for a while". The thief further justified his reasoning, with thoughts of anger, and resentment.  
_  
She bit you. She overreacted to your decision. This is for the best._

Not one of these thoughts, did he believe true. He could hardly believe that which he had physical proof of. That Gwenevere-innocent, tender Gwenevere-had just brutally attacked him.

Try as he had to dissuade himself, Garrett was beginning to realize something about her. She was wild. Even if Simmons had stolen much of that wildness from her, via his constant castigation and abuse, a nymph was still a nymph. And Gwenevere was not only a nymph-she was a direct spawn of The Trickster.

Perhaps the bite had been inevitable. The thief remembered hearing of crazy nobles who kept wild beasts as pets. The late crime lord Ramirez was perhaps the most infamous, with his brood of burricks which he likened to children. Books had been published on the subject of nobles and their exotic pet keeping-it had really become that prominent of an issue. The tome mainly documented cautionary tales of pets escaping, and wreaking havoc on innocent servants or locals. It was sadly ironic, how often those who had no choice, or were otherwise unaware, ended out being the victims of these obsessed nobles, and their dangerous menageries.

When interviewed after the 'accidents', none of the documented owners ever held their precious pets responsible. They would always revert to defensive, pathetic excuses for the mauling. It was only playing. The servant was careless. He's really a sweet thing, once you get to know him. Garrett stroked his chin, beginning to seriously wonder if he had been making similar excuses for Gwenevere.

Like her mother, Gwenevere was a feral, unpredictable creature. Form and mannerisms not withstanding, nymphs were not women. They were fairy folk, like goblins, pixies, and trolls. Their bodies were made appealing for a number of reasons; luring man prey for either food, or to the cloven feet of their destroyed master. Gwenevere was no different. Even without Trickster or dedication to the forest, she was a wild animal, not a woman. She always would be.

Perhaps Garrett's fatal flaw-and saving grace, was that the thief could be unbelievably stubborn. Despite the mounting evidence and reasoning, he refused to believe that Gwenevere wanted to kill him. She had reacted, as any normal person would have. The thief was not ignorant to the way his words and snap decisions affected those around him. He knew what he had said was cruel, untimely. Unplanned. But he had never dismissed her out of malice. Garrett was trying to protect her, the only way he knew how.

When a gentle hand grows too familiar, sometimes an unexpected shove is required.

Artemus had once decreed these words, after a young teen Garrett had tried to sneak out of the compound late one night. Garrett had been locked within the Keeper dungeons the remainder of that weekend, for the first time. A punishment which caused his mentor far greater discomfort and remorse. Thirty years later, the thief still disagreed with the Keepers and their silly rules regarding outside exploration-but at least now, he understood the reasoning behind it.

His arm still throbbed with pain, but thanks to the potion he had been nursing since the attack, the bleeding had lessened to a gentle trickle. Garrett sincerely hoped that the fresh injury would not affect his performance that night. It was already going to be a severely perilous task.

"Better get started then..." he grumbled, capping the half-empty glass flask.

He felt heavier than usual, when he stood. A brisk wind stung the nape of his neck through warm cloak. Unnatural air, seeing as the weather was muggy and wet as of late. Garrett clenched his fist around the neck of the bottle, crunching it to pieces in his own frustration. Gasps of empty air and shuddered pain came in place of actual tears.

No. It wasn't that easy. He couldn't forget what had happened here tonight. Gwenevere's heart and dreams had been mercilessly shattered by that of her most trusted master. And there was a very real possibility, that Garrett would never see her again...

One more repetition of his lament, and the thief placed a cold hand upon the rustic doorknob. It turned without any trouble. To his surprise, it wasn't even locked.

**********************************************

As Garrett stood within that first room, the thief could have sworn that he was hallucinating. After all, how else could one possibly begin to describe any of this insanity?

Trees, hundreds of them. Thick, tall, and covered in a verdant tapestry of vines and soft downy moss. Their boughs were gnarled and ancient, and each produced a cluttered canopy of leaves, which obstructed Garrett's view. Preventing him from noticing any possible ceiling therein; if there even was one. As he made his way deeper into the room, Garrett began to hear what one would hear if they were in a forest. Humming bugs, and the occasional flapping of wings; although the thief had yet to actually see any of these elusive creatures. He was beginning to wonder just how big the mansion actually was. Certain illusions were definitely at work, and Garrett did not relish the thought of arcane trickery. Garrett had already lived through his fair share of spells, mages, and all manner of sorcery therein.

He began to remember what Asteriah had told him, and what Gwenevere had confirmed. His nymph, in light of her orphaned and kidnapped state at the time, had learned the majority of her magical arts from this place. The thief grinned beneath dark cowl. It made perfect sense, now that he finally had time to think about it. Gwenevere's attacks were similar to those used by the earth mages. Binding viney coils, gleaming green lights of both helpful and harmful varieties. Her mother used vines too-but they were always tipped with thorns, or poisonous stinging nettles.

One of Gwenevere's powers-and perhaps the one which still gave him nightmares-her acidic black sludge-where had she learned that ability? If he had to give a knowledgeable guess, the thief concluded that her more sinister powers were indeed direct links to her predecessors. Hooved god of wicked distortion, and savagely beautiful Mother Nature.

He had thought the Trickster's abandoned manor to be ridiculously overgrown with plants. But this...it was as if the residents of Mystic Manor had tried to grow an entire jungle within their bedroom!

"Cracked taffers...What's next? A menagerie?" The rogue quipped sarcastically to no one.

Garrett's refusal to regard luck or fate with any glint of truth, always had a way of extracting rotten irony at the most inopportune times. For at that moment, the thief heard a hollow, echo of a roar. It caused his body to lock up with icy terror, both eyes wide and fingers reaching subconsciously for dagger and bow. The thief cared little for any animal, save cats. This was partly due to lifestyle-the way he had grown up.

The Keepers never had animals within their possession, beyond what was needed. Discretion was mandatory, and a few goats and chickens were tended to, in order to limit trips into The City for foodstuffs. But they did not keep pets. Most pets, Garrett saw as a downright bother. Dogs especially. The bane of his stealth abilities, they could smell him where even the most inaudible motions failed all ears within a dwelling. And they could bite.

This second reason, was what had the thief so on edge now-there was an animal in here with him. And despite his current position behind one of the grand trees, it was very much aware of his presence.

A second roar came, intermingled with a brief howl. Garrett felt his blood run cold. The blackjack would do little good in a situation such as this. If this beast was indeed a mangy guard dog, he could bop the canine against its tender snout with little issue. This was a fairly reliable method for warding off angry canines. But dogs didn't roar. Whatever pursued him now, the thief was certain of at least one thing:

Garrett needed his dagger, if he was to stand any chance of defending himself against it.

Hissing sounded from the bush again, followed by the most ear-piercing screech that the thief had ever heard. Garrett exclaimed with a startled sound resembling a grunt and a yell, as a wall of black muscle and fur came careening downward at him from the trees. It nearly had him pinned, had he been one moment slower. Instead, the lithe and agile man barely escaped the razor claws, and bone crushing strength of a fearsome panther.

Landing with silent air, despite its considerable weight, the cat locked eyes with its latest quarry. Garrett felt every muscle in his body lock. Sweltering fingers clenched against the hilt of his dagger, the sure grip of his leather gloves the only thing preventing it from leaving his hand. Amber eyes locked with those of metal and midnight, as the panther padded towards him. The thief nearly lost himself, when it began to speak.

"You tread on private ground, little human." The panther addressed him. The pitch and tone of its voice was vaguely Pagan, speech pattern aside. "A robber, mayhaps?" The beast released a series of short, loud purrs. It took Garrett a moment to realize, that it was laughing at him.

The panther began to circle the shadowy human whom had just stepped within his domain. He wouldn't be the first, which was how the cat knew him as he was-thief. However, there was something considerably different about this one. What it was, the intelligent guardian of the key could not say. It was neither an exotic, nor malevolent sort of ability. Not necessarily a powerful sort, either. It was unique, intelligent. A secret, special sort of man prey. Perhaps this one should be kept. Possibly this one would be of interest or use to the mages who ruled this place?

The eyes were intriguing, even for a feral cat who possessed far more stunning and acute optics. He still found them quite unique. He continued to circle the intruder, trying to figure out his most curious abilities. Humans weren't supposed to evade his pounce. They were not supposed to stand, quietly staring at him. They were supposed to be afraid. Be afraid and run. This human wanted to flee, the cat knew this much to be true. But that intelligent glint within his strange colored eyes...perhaps he was smart enough to know he couldn't run fast enough?

Garrett watched the cat continue to circle him, watching for any blinking or weakness in its footing. One mistake. That was all he required to catch this predator off guard with a gas bomb, and escape. The amber eyes held widened pupils, consumed by inquiry, wisdom, and murder.

"Why are you here, thief? We have nothing for the likes of you." The panther growled.

Garrett didn't answer. The cat laughed again.

"Very well. Would you rather I just killed you?"

The thief grasped the hilt of his weapon tighter. He was trapped, and he knew it. His only exit, blocked by a ravenous carnivore who desired to feast upon his warm flesh. Garrett groaned. Stalling had its uses, and perhaps a little time, was all he required.

"Business, actually."

"You are no mage. You will find no business here!"

"I thought you said you knew I was a thief?" The clever rogue chided. The panther snorted with rage.

"Yes! I do know this! But..." it pawed at the soft moss with extended claws.

"But?" Garrett questioned.

"I can not simply kill an imposter, you see?" the panther's amber eyes sparkled, "my commanders...the denizens of this place...they enjoy a little sport."

"Sport?!" A flabbergasted expression covered Garrett's face. The cat, began to unnaturally grin.

"Yes. Riddles and tricks. Traps and death for those who fail their clever little puzzles."

"Damn mages and their taffing mind games..." Garrett groaned softly, rolling his eyes, "so I take it that this is all some elaborate maze? Is that why you didn't just kill me?"

"Precisely. You were being watched, dear thief, even before you entered the facility. Asteriah, is one of the oldest members of our little family, you know. A mistress of water, and icy manipulation. And you, are Mystic Manor's lucky contestant for the month. Congratulations on being found worthy!"

A feeling of paranoia dwarfed all fear, and anger accompanied it. Garrett began to quiver with betrayal and anxiety. Asteriah, had tricked him. He wasn't here for elements at all. He was here, to entertain that witch and her fellow mages. She had orcastrated this sick little game right from the start.

"So this is all just some puzzle? A game?!" Garrett demanded.

"Yes, and I am to be your first opponent." The panther's disturbing smile lengthened. "It's such a shame that you didn't bring a second member for your team. You'll be grossly outclassed without a partner."

There was a twisted knowing in the predator's words. Garrett glared down at the cat. It was purposely mocking his loss of Gwenevere.

"Pity that you told her to go. You might just have won with a mage on your team..."

The thief looked around for an exit. He didn't care if the carnivore lunged, he was getting the hell out of there! He'd made a serious mistake-both in coming to this place; and also in allowing his apprentice to leave his side.

Trees obstructed the view of any possible windows or doorways-save that of the one Garrett had come through. Beneath his cloak, he readied a gas bomb. The panther wasn't taking its eyes off of him; risks had to be taken, if the thief was going to escape. Garrett wasn't about to amuse a group of sop-minded wizards.

With a flick of his wrist, the thief hit the panther squarely in the face. The great cat yowled and hissed, spitting as consciousness left his powerful body. The creature collapsed with a miserable groan. Stunned, but very much alive. Garrett's bi-colored eyes flashed as he tore for the exit. He reached for the doorknob, and gave it a firm twist.

Only to find it locked from the other side.

A wave of adrenaline coursed through his body. The mages had come prepared, and taken the liberty of confining their latest play thing. Fumbling in blind desperation for his lockpicks, Garrett inserted them into the flower-shaped lock. A surge of powerful nature magic grabbed at his hands, causing him to holler. The thief gaped in pure shock, as the lockpicks disintegrated within his hands, leaving only burnt stubs and singed fingernails in their wake.

Before Garrett could even think of the words to properly express his horror, a familiar woman's voice blared through unseen speakers overhead.

"Taut taut, Master Thief! There's no going back now!" Garrett clenched his teeth, and glared up through the leafy treetops.

"Asteria! Was this your plan then? Is this why you paid me in advance, you shady docktramp?!"

A giggle came from overhead, its echoes causing the jungle-like room to grow even more uncertain and wild.

"Oh, come on dearie! No name calling-this is going to be so much fun!"

"I'll call you whatever the hell I like, you bitch! Let me out!" Garrett continued to shout blindly at the trees.

"You know? I'm actually happy you didn't bring Gwenevere. The puzzles would have been far too easy for a mage."

"Then why the hell'd you invite her too?!"

Another bout of giggling, followed by dead static.

"That's personal, thief. But there will be time enough for her to rectify what she's done to me, now that she's no longer on your chain."

Asteria's sultry voice took on an air of disturbed, wayward mystery.

"What?!" Garrett was more confused than angry now, thanks to her last sentence alone.

"You won't stop what is coming, now that you're here. I can deal with that pretender."

A chill ran down his spine. He was trapped within this game now, at least for the moment. Gwenevere was loose, running around The City with no one remaining to guide or protect her. If Asteriah had anything malicious planned for the little nymph, there was nothing Garrett could do to prevent it. Unless he survived this twisted maze, and the trials within.

Mecha eye finally noticed the roving watcher and speaker, concealed behind the boughs of two great trees. Garrett locked eyes with that metal face-the adored creation of one of his greatest adversaries. Some were apparently still in use, even after all these years.

"Okay Asteriah," Garrett finally answered, voice low and solemn, "I'll play your little game."

"Oh! How wonderful!" She shrieked, her voice augmented with false, girlish laugher.

"But..." grave malice in her captive's tone caused her celebrations to cease. "If I get out of here, and find my apprentice harmed or threatened in any way, I swear I'll kill you."

There was a long pause over the speakers, a few crackles of static, and distant male murmurs the only sound the thief could decipher for several minutes. Finally, Asteria's smooth voice returned, more hateful than before.

"Oh don't worry yourself about her anymore, Garrett. You won't be getting out of here."

_Wanna bet?_ Garrett continued to leer up at the concealed watcher.


	61. Chapter 61

Gwenevere's head dropped as she padded along beside Mcclay, a new stream of sticky tears sliding down her cheeks. Pilfur snuggled tighter against her chest, trying to comfort his ailing friend. He felt her distress. Though the Keeper knew she was weeping, he hadn't heard so much as a single sob from the girl. It was as if she were too sad to cry.

Too resigned.

"Young Gwenevere? We have nearly arrived." He broke the silence of evening.

Numb and slightly queasy, the little nymph nodded.

"Yes, Keyper. I'm aware."

Burlap sacks filled with her growing spawn hung from her waist, dangling slightly with every step she took from her thief. Feelings of primal anger at her mentor's callous dismissal still torched her insides, but they were also accompanied by utter desolation and agony. Though through her anger she had not yet realized it, she didn't want to leave him. Gwenevere wanted to remain with Garrett. Even if he had betrayed her trust-and even if she could no longer become a thief.

None of that mattered in the end, for she truly loved him. Love for the man whom the lessons had come from; rather than the skills she had acquired through his teachings.

Upon reaching the abandoned quarry, Mcclay opened the entrance via glyph, and ushered her inside. Gwenevere sighed with a mixture of dread, anticipation, and fear as she entered the dank silence of the tunnel. Her courage wavered. She had not been prepared for what was now happening, and the reality hit her with a blunt, unforgiving force. Gwenevere, was now free to make her own decisions. She had never been in charge of her own destiny for the entirety of her young life. Now she finally was, and frankly, it terrified her. But her fears began to dissipate when she noticed the gentle smile upon the Keeper's lips. Forcing herself to relax a little, Gwenevere smiled up at him through the darkness

"Are you alright, child?" The elder offered.

"Yes. At least, I think so." Gwenevere peeped, celadon eyes now focused upon her ringless left hand.

In the commotion and unexpected chaos of the night, Garrett had been unable to return her cherished token. Her finger felt strange without the tight bronze coils wrapped around it. A manfool trapping which somehow set her heart free.

She jerked a little, as Mcclay's frail arm gently fell around her shoulders. She met his gaze through lost, hopeless eyes.

"M'lady Sophie does speak the truth, dear girl. You can use this pain to better yourself. To learn."

"Keyper Mcclay? I-I think I have a question for you." Gwenevere tried. The Keeper closed his eyes, and granted her a solemn, approving nod.

"I shall do my best to aid you in your quandary."

"I love Garrett. Even after what he did tonight, I can't hate him."

"You are close to him, child. I would be worried if you did not love him." Mcclay responded. Gwenevere shivered.

"Then why...why am I leaving?" Fear once again washed over her. She had to know! The elder tightened his hold around the young woman, unwittingly pulling her into a loose hug.

"You are hurting, child. You need this," he crooned in a comforting, wizened voice, "sometimes only solitude can grant us true comfort. And sometimes only alone, can we truly begin to understand the world around us."

"I still love Garrett," she whispered. "I could never stop loving him. He's my...my human. My eternal mate." She knew Keeper Mcclay had no idea of what she was speaking, but she did not care.

Truth be told, Gwenevere wasn't entirely aware of the utmost depth of that last sentiment. She knew of the term, 'eternal mate'. It was an affectionate title two Pagans would take together, if they loved each other deeply enough. Even if the innocent creature did not fully understand the weight of her words, she felt compelled to declare them nonetheless.

"I know," Mcclay answered softly, and drew her into his arms for a comforting, honest hug.

The young woman leaned into him graciously, and instantly burst into tears. She felt so small and helpless all of a sudden. Pilfur mewed loudly, and rubbed his head against her chest. Keeper Mcclay's trembling embrace enveloped her completely, the elder not minding as she cried all over his robes, and squeezed him far too tightly.  
After many long minutes of sobbing, she was finally able to calm herself enough to withdraw from his embrace, setting Pilfur down upon the earthy floor. She would have many more opportunities to cry, but enough tears had fallen for one night. Keeper Mcclay was obviously waiting for her to collect herself, so that they could proceed deeper into his hideout.

With a newfound courage, Gwenevere looked upwards at Mcclay, and forced a small smile.

"I'm gonna give this my all, Keyper Mcclay."

*********************************************

Upon reaching Mcclay's sleeping area, the Keeper's expression grew stoic. The balance had shifted again. All was indeed going to prophecy, and the Last Mother was now ready to meet her destiny. But what had she left behind to get to this point?

"Child," he urged Gwenevere into his chambers. The little nymph complied with swiftness of breath, her feet feeling lighter.

She was immediatly greeted by several tall bookshelves, each packed with hundreds of weathered tomes.

"Wow! You certainly have a lot!" She giggled.

"Mm-hm." Mcclay bowed his head, placing his frigid hands into the toasty sleeves of his Keeper vestments.

Gwenevere pressed a finger to her lips, as she perused the book shelves that lined Keeper Mcclay's bedroom. She smiled warmly and pulled free Garrett's lent copy of _'Robber Hood and His Merry Thugs'_, and traced the image of the handsome, emerald-clad ranger with a quivering thumb. She would have to finish it, despite her pain. She needed something to take her mind from what had happened. A positive memory of her beloved rogue.

"Do you like to read?" She blurted lazily, still thumbing through the Keeper's collection.

"Oh yes. Of course, many of these tomes are meant for study, rather than leisure my dear." Mcclay replied.

Gwenevere squinted up at the books again. There were many books on magic and ancient history, as well as those that detailed the making and uses of various weaponry. There were treatises on diplomacy, as well as philosophy. She scanned more shelves and saw books on warfare, various forms of government, and histories of The City, and the neighboring countries. Gwenevere's thoughts immediately drifted back to Nethalzia. Its warm, inviting atmosphere, and passionate yet easy-going folk. And oh, the colors! Nethalzia was a rich tapestry of strange flowers, beautiful languages, and exotic trade.

How she desperately yearned to return to that quaint village, nestled lovingly between the verdant forest. Gwenevere missed the sound of the train, and the peculiar scent of its smoke. The quaking rumbles had grown familiar to her, often lulling her to sleep on evenings when her thief was away; plying his craft in the neighboring dystopian metropolis.

Another book caught her eye. It was thick, and the pages appeared exceptionally worn. It was titled _"Erotic Exploration: Finding Your Inner Beast"._ Unsure what such fancy words could possibly mean, Gwenevere curiously pulled the book from the shelf. The nymph ashamedly pulled her bangs further down across her left eye.  
She had already found, and destroyed her inner beast-with the help of her thief.

But in spite of that, the naïve young lady wondered just what this peculiar tome contained. Did humans, for example, have an inner creature they could discover and contact? Did Garrett have one? If he did, Gwenevere guessed that it would probably be a ferret. Or maybe a cunning, dexterous lynx. While the Keeper was still distracted, the nymph snuck a quick peek at its contents. What she read, caused her to blush furiously.

"Oh...oh my!"

"Young Gwenevere?" Mcclay was peering over her shoulder the best he could at his current distance. "Which book are you reading there?"

"Oh!" She jumped, and quickly shelved the tome. That proved to be a big mistake, as the elder could now quite easily read the golden title emblazoned along its spine. His mouth gaped wide open in surprise. The little nymph wiped her pointed nose, and began to shuffle her feet.

"Gwenevere," was all he could get out in his shocked state.

"Yes Keyper?" The young woman shyly peeped, as she continued to paw at the soil floor with bare toes, and downcast eyes. A soft glimmer of natural essences wafted up from beneath the earth. For whatever reason, Gwenevere found that she tended to absorb plant essences when she became nervous.

A moment of silence passed between Keeper and nymph, as if Mcclay were silently scolding her curiosity over the forbidden. He was not. Contrary to what most would conclude, Keeper Mcclay was not ashamed of the steamy tome, nor attempting to hide it from his newest guest. He had merely assumed that a nymph would already know all there was about such matters. Her innocent, albeit excited reaction had concerned him. That's when a furious pang of guilt ravaged his chest. Gwenevere, had grown up a kidnapped waif, completely detached from any Pagans, or means of learning such intimate matters.

_All your fault. All your fault. All your fault._

These words were pounded into his skull and soul hundreds of times that evening-as they had been every night, since the foolish man had first made that horrible mistake. Mcclay silently shuddered, taking several moments to collect himself before finally speaking to Gwenevere again.

"Child-"

"-Ooh! I almost forgot!" Gwenevere interrupted him, struggling to pull something unseen from her knapsack. Mcclay grumbled, a tad miffed by her rudeness. But all annoyed thought left his mind, when the girl produced the crude green journal. Menacing, disgusting beast decorating its cover.

"Have you ever seen a book like this before?" Gwenevere asked, hopefully. Keeper Mcclay reached for the relic with trembling digits.

"Where did you get this?" He whispered.

"Garrett and I found it, at my father's old manor." A wave of surreal dread swept across her chest, causing the nymph to recoil.

Keeper Mcclay began to cautiously thumb through the Pagan journal. A deep frown buried itself within the folds of his face. He had indeed seen this tome before-and so had Simmons. It had come into the Keeper's possession via this girl's most trusted protector-Lotus. Before he embarked on the mission that would inevitably end his existence. Mcclay had hidden it within the Funhouse, knowing full well that no sensible folk dared venture within it's haunted walls. But Garrett, was not a very sensible man at times; and Gwenevere was nearly immune to the spellcraft of that place-being the beast's own spawn.

"Can you read it, Keyper?" Gwenevere broke the silence with a hopeful whimper. The elder met her wide-eyed, glassy stare with a look of complete insecurity.

"No. But I may know of one who can." He responded in an enigmatic voice. Gwenevere gasped with sheer thrill.

"Really?! Who? Who?!" She jumped up and down, fists tightened to contain her excitement. The Keeper managed a weak grin.

"It has been a very long and tiresome day for you child. Perhaps you should get some rest." He offered, his voice slightly choked. "We shall tend to this matter, come dawn."

"Well, okay." Gwenevere shrugged, confused but relived that her host wasn't upset by her discovery. "Where exactly do you want me to sleep then?" Gwenevere smiled at him, when the Keeper gestured to the door of his room.

"Down the tunnel further, and to your left. There you shall find an unoccupied room. Feel free to unpack your belongings and settle yourself." He encouraged, holding open the door for her.

"Thank you, Keyper Mcclay-I will!"

And with that, she hurried out of the room. Pilfur scuttled behind her, the bell on his collar jingling merrily.

**************************************

Her smile crumbled the second that the door closed. Gwenevere untied the burlap sacks, and gently set each of her children beside the crude bed. Eyes a kaleidoscope of many colorful emotions, she knelt before them and began quietly weeping. Her tears fell into their soil; the girls tragedy and pain nursing her budding saplings. They had begun to take on more facial features now, and the dark coloration crowning their heads marked the soon to sprout hair as either auburn, or black.

Or perhaps both.

The nymph was still baffled by the last seedling however-it hadn't even started growing yet!

Gwenevere wondered what sort of a mother she would actually make. She was consumed by a mixture of worry, and excitement. She wanted to raise her offspring right-the way her mother had cared for her. Pilfur sniffed the remainder of her belongings before padding to her side upon silent feet. The little nymph smiled, glad for his comfort.

But she was still terrified.


	62. Chapter 62

**THE PAGAN WOOD  
SEVENTEEN YEARS AGO:**

_How does this forest remain so green?  
_  
These were Cedric Mcclay's first wandering observations, as his mind gradually steadied itself upon waking. His bride-his eternal mate-Alma, was still resting upon a soft deer pelt beside him. The secret Keeper smiled at her tranquil features, and stood. After redressing himself, Mcclay peeked in on their two resting daughters. One was nearly five years old, and the other had been born just under a year ago.

Keeper, or as he was known amongst these Pagans-The Conscripted One-felt as a gracious smile spread wide across his face. In their encompassing wisdom, the rest of his Keeper brethren had forsaken all passion. They were enlightened, wise. But if only in this one solitary matter, they were very wrong. His home here, his beautiful family. Mcclay's balance had been long ago lost for them-yet they were all he could ever want.

Upon exiting the crudely constructed dwelling, Mcclay was immediately greeted by a tawny man draped in a thick wolf pelt. He was more clean-cut than some of the other pagans, and his eyes were like topaz. In them, the Keeper saw courage, kindness. Mcclay sadly frowned. This, was a very good man.

"Thems Conscripted One! I bes bringers thems Woodsie Writings. The Lady! She bes not wanters me bringers it on my mission."

Keeper Mcclay slowly approached Lotus, feeling as if a great barrier had just been placed between them. He feared for the outcome of this mission. Markham's Isle was an incredibly dangerous place-now more than ever, since the Mechanists had staked their claim on its haunted shores. Obviously, the nymph knew as well. Woodsie Queen would never ask for her trusted friend to leave his secrets behind. Especially secrets regarding her last born spawn.

Lotus withdrew a thin green journal from the pack around his waist. An unassuming peek within, allowed Mcclay to spot several small flasks, and unsecured arrow heads. The Pagan also had a quiver swung over his tanned shoulder, filled with a well-balanced bow, and several readied arrows. The Keeper's eyes narrowed. Was this perhaps more than a scouting mission? Reality clicked within his mind, coupled by an icy chill.

Information gathering, and revenge.

The Mechanist Genocide had hurt the Pagans deeply, inflicting wounds that would not so easily heal. Mcclay knew full well of what a vindictive creature Viktoria was. The nymph would have gladly taken said revenge herself, had her ties to this sacred place not been so great.

In actuality, Keeper Mcclay was beginning to wonder if the Woodsie Lady could leave. Had Trickster been her only means of doing so before? Usually when the leash was severed from the beast, said beast would run unhalted wherever it wished. But there was a uniqueness to Viktoria, that Mcclay doubted even he could fully begin to describe. She was free from her god, yet she remained vigilant in protecting his believers, and furthering his work.

The Keeper took the offered book with both hands, and examined the cover with a horrified expression. What monster of an abomination was he looking at?! It was disgusting. Awful fangs protruded from a shrunken, gristly maw. Large bulk of rotting vegetation made up the disfigured body of a bear, while bark-like feet and claws gave the creature a truly intriguing look. It made his eyes sting, as if the fumes of the actual beast were penetrating them, but Keeper Mcclay could not turn his gaze.

"Bes not peekers at thems pages, Conscripted One." Lotus threatened, although there was no actual anger in his words. His warning was given out of respect to the Lady.

"Never." Mcclay gave a slow, courteous nod. "Your secrets shall remain unseen."

Lotus nodded back, a sign of trust. Though from a completely different world, he understood. This Conscripted One, was trustworthy. Good.

"I bes leavers before the nine hour. I bes tellers thems Woodsie child goodsie byes before I goes." The Pagan smiled.

Mcclay could immediately tell, that Lotus was reluctant to leave her. The two had a very close bond. Like brother and sister, or was he more like an uncle to the girl? Perhaps an earthly stand-in for the father she was never to have.

"Very well." The Keeper huffed, his breath visible in the chilly dawn air. It was always cold in the mornings, this deep into the forest. Again, Mcclay did not know why this was.

Lotus lazily waved farewell, and started off into the fog. Keeper Mcclay, never was able to return the book.

********************************************************************

**KEEPER MCCLAY'S HIDEOUT  
PRESANT DAY:**

The Master Thief's words were as true as always: Gwenevere, was still a heavy sleeper. Sandris had no trouble entering her bedroom without being noticed. True, she was an Enforcer-and a well-trained one at that. But what really surprised her, was the fact that it was almost noon, and the Keeper's newest guest had yet to rise. She still felt weak and pitiful without her mask. After this was all over with, Sandris knew how she'd be dedicating every conscious effort.

The arcane magic sealed away within the last article of her Enforcer outfit still called to her. In a spectral, beckoning whisper, it demanded to be found. It disliked the hands which currently held it; examined it. Sandris silently growled. That meant someone had found her mask, and now kept it within their possession. Whoever they were, they were going to pay for befouling her treasured property.

The Enforcer took a silent step over towards where Gwenevere and Pilfur slept. A smug grin adorned pale lips, beautiful in their simplicity. Just like before. The night Keeper Mcclay had ordered her to protect the nymph from the Hammerite's assassin. The man they had sent, had been more of a game hunter than a professional human murder.

Mavric, had been his name. Not registered with any of the organized assassin guilds, he most likely had been inexpensive to persuade. An untrained hand administering death without technique or credence-such a scenario gave the Enforcer a sinister chill. It wasn't kosher. For as long as she could recall, Sandris had lived under the firm, yet wise hand of The Keepers.

Murder was one of her most powerful tools-but brutality was not. Her victims always died very fast; most before they were ever aware of their killer's presence. A grave frown replaced her stoic expression. Would Mavric-a pronounced lover of violence-have granted Gwenevere the same? Sandris severely doubted it.

Stirring, at last! Gwenevere's mind reluctantly began to exit her dream realm; leaving memories laced with green earth, and soft brown creatures behind for another night. A feathered out mess of red hair groggily rose from the pillow, long unkempt bangs concealing Gwenevere's eyelids. Pilfur mewed as she sat up, trying to assure her as his beloved friend tried to address her surroundings. Shaking her bangs away from her eyes, the young woman released a tiny groan. It took her the better half of two minutes to finally notice the Enforcer standing at the edge of her bed.

Eyes still cloudy and mind still flustered, the first detail Gwenevere locked onto, was the dark hood and clothing. For one genuine moment, regret filled the little nymph's tear-stained face.

"Garrett! Oh Garrett, I'm so sorry! Please! Please let me be your apprentice again!" She began to cry, and turned to face the image of a man she desperately wanted to see.

But as drowsiness began to gradually wane, Gwenevere began to notice the other details of that hooded individual's face. Blue eyes, one lighter than the other. Thick brown hair poking through at the shoulders and neckline of her cowl. A very noticeable, female's face. The nymph felt her heart shrivel.

"Good morning. My name is Sandris." The Enforcer attempted to sound kind, which wasn't easy for her.

Kindness wasn't an easy emotion for her to feel on any job. It was as if her mind locked into professional drive, the second she began any job for Mcclay. Even just being sent on a simple errand such as this. She took a deep breath, trying to relax herself. The girl before her was disappointed, possibly growing frightened. Sandris _would_ be accommodating!

"Oh. Hi." Gwenevere responded, pulling her bangs over her left eye like before. She flushed bright red in the obvious embarrassment and shame her assumption had caused.

Silence passed between the two women for longer than was comfortable, until Pilfur meowed very loudly. Gwenevere and Sandris looked down at him. His green eyes were wide and extremely intent.

"He must be hungry," the Enforcer tried, "we have breakfast started in the break room, if you two would care to join us."

"Oh, that's right," Gwenevere muttered, her voice sounding hoarse from almost constant crying, "I'm staying with Keyper Mcclay for a while..."

"Yes, and he would very much like to speak with you-" Sandris caught herself, "-I mean, whenever you're ready, that is."

Gwenevere looked up at her, and smiled.

"Thank you Sandris." She nodded.

"Just doing my job."

Gwenevere squinted her eyes, still observing the mysterious hooded lady before her. There was a familiarity in her features, her speaking patterns.

"Do I...do I know you from somewhere? Sandris?" The nymph crooked her head with genuine intrigue. Sandris laughed.

"You could say that. After all, I did save your life. Almost twice now, by my count." There was an obvious smugness in her tone, but Gwenevere wasn't fazed. She was used to hooded rogues who praised their own worth. It oddly enough, only made the stranger more enduring to her.

"Oh, why thank you then!" She nodded, closing her eyes. "But what do you mean by almost twice?"

The Enforcer squeezed her cyan eyes tightly shut, and ground her teeth in bitter fury. Poorly chosen words, planned as his exit line. A concealed green sphere being thrust squarely into her unguarded face. Overpowering urge to lie down, followed by all-encompassing blackness.

"I was...disrupted. My apologies for failing you, miss." These were not Sandris's chosen words. Her glyphs had sensed her unassociated feelings, and leashed her. Forced this augmented apology to exit her trembling lips.

"Aww, no need to apologize! We all make mistakes." The little nymph was surprisingly accepting of such a terrible failing. This confused Sandris; but it also brought her comfort.

"Thanks," her true words again, "you're very kind, Gwenevere."

Gwenevere stood up and stretched with a squeal, thin arms outstretched like branches to an unreachable sun.

"I try my best." Hair still wild and feet bare, the nymph walked over to the door. "Come on Sandris! Let's go get some yummy breakfast!"

********************************************************

"Y-you like games? I've got a copy of Burricks and Burrows!" Starry-eyed Tobias leaned forward, completely enraptured by the sullen assassin guest.

Erin rolled her eyes with a loud groan. She pursed her dark lips, and looked down at her dagger. So tempting. So very tempting. This little snotball had been trying to make his obvious crush on her known for the last few weeks. Still, it was so much better than the fate Ross and Bernard had planned for her, or selling herself to deviant nobles, so she endured his pestering. For now.

"Sure, I like games," Erin replied nonchalantly, "my idea of a game, would be slitting your throat for cold hard coin." She hissed, an intimidating smile finding those ebony lips of hers. "Sound fun?"

Tobias couldn't help but notice how utterly amazing she looked holding that dagger of hers-completely unaware that Erin was indeed, an assassin. That she had killed real people with it, and that what he perceived as playful jests, were genuine threats.

"Great! You can be the illustrious she-demon, who starts with an extra +3 on Slicey-ism!" He scribbled away on his notepad again. Erin scowled, grimacing in disgust.

"Seriously dude. I WILL cut you..." There was more hate in her tone now, more genuine danger. A momentary look of worry flashed across the young man's face, but it left just as quickly when he noticed her blue eyes.

Such incredible eyes they were! And when accompanied by her pale flesh, and pixie cut raven hair...

Tobias had his admiration sliced through prematurely, when Nellarose entered the room. It took the Grower teen mere moments to assess the situation. It wasn't good.

"Ya'll come on now, kid! Erin's got some important matters to attend to!" She reprimanded the young man, crossing her arms.

"I do?" Erin gave her a puzzled look. Nellarose sighed hard, then leaned down to the assassin's exposed ear.

"I'm tryin' to save ya here. Try to play along, yeah?" She whispered. Erin locked eyes with hers, their faces still close.

She'd rarely met anyone with such fair hair. Accompanied with her facial tattoos-which Erin couldn't help but envy a little; Garrett never allowed her to get one-the farm girl actually looked pretty cool. It was an interesting breed of beauty.

"Sure..." The assassin stretched the word, trying to mask her gratitude. She hopped down from the counter, and followed Nellarose out of the kitchen.  
Tobias shrugged, and continued to write within his notebook. She'd be back.

**************************

"Sooo, what's this all about?" Erin demanded, once the two girls were back in the entryway of the hideout. Nellarose faced her with a look of genuine aggravation.

"Your burrick. There are some things you need to know."

"Woah, woah, woah!" The assassin waved her hands out in front of her, "there is no burrick!"

"Uh, yeah there is. Right over there."

Nellarose pointed to where the young burrick was mouthing an old bucket. The creature trilled at the sight of Erin, dropping its teether into a pile of sticky green slobber. It padded over to her, making more playful, doglike grunts and moans.

"Stay back!" Erin kicked a rock at the prancing guar. It slid to a clumsy halt, looking up at her through confused dark eyes. Erin stared back at the teenage Grower.

"Look sweetheart, I'm not keeping that stinky reptile! What do you think I am, some crazy noble?" Erin scoffed, blowing on her long bangs. Nellarose sighed, a look of sadness adorning her face.

"She thinks you are her mother Erin. She's imprinted on you."

"Well, she can just go and imprint on some other shmuck! Can't be too hard" Erin retorted.

"Look, I'm a Grower. I was raised to care for all lifeforms; to understand them. And my understanding of this burrick, is that she needs her mother."

"I ain't that thing's mother."

"Erin, if you don't take an interest in her, she'll die." Nellarose protested, a soft pity in her words. "She isn't eating without you-she's that sad. Look, I've been taking care of her for you the best I can. But no one can replace her mother."

"I told you-I'm not that thing's mother!" The dark-haired assassin demanded, starting away down the tunnel. "See ya."

"No. You're wrong." Nellarose rushed in front of her, halting her departure. Erin's cerulean eyes blazed with fury, her pupils dilated into contrasting black dots.

"Outta my way!" She sneered, trying to force her way past.

But little Nellarose proved to be far stronger than the assassin gave her credit for. Years of tending the land, and doing work that she was far too young and small for, had honed her muscles and reflexes. Far better than those of an arrogant killer who had long ago traded all of her skills away for the easier route.

"You became her mother, when you took that burrick from her nest and she hatched in your arms. For most, that would be reason enough to care for her-but don't worry Erin. Your selfish heart hasn't been overlooked by me." Nellarose hissed.

"How the hell do you know what's in my heart?" Erin snapped, pushing her. The Grower pushed her back.

"Because, over the last few weeks you've spend with us, you haven't shown the slightest regard for anyone, save yourself!" Nellarose countered.

Her accusation caused Erin to step back. A large, drippy snout poked into the side of her exposed arm. The young woman looked over her shoulder, and met the anticipated stare of those primitive reptilian eyes. They were laced with hope, but filled almost completely with sadness. The burrick whined, pawing nervously at the ground. Awaiting a response from her savior; her perceived parent.

Erin bit her bottom lip, her eyes now two deep pools full of brimming tears. All of the feelings that had been slowly stirring inside of her for the past few weeks finally came to a head, and erupted. Turning around and falling to her knees, she collapsed against the wall right in front of Nellarose. She didn't want this burrick, she didn't want to be down in these tunnels hiding with Keepers and their charges.

But as with everything else within the young woman's life, she'd lost the ability to control her fate. Hope had been stolen from her, and Erin was getting old enough to realize that all of these bad circumstances had been birthed by her own decisions. No, she couldn't blame Ross and Bernard for her current situation. She had sold her rights and life to them years ago.

Back then, she'd been far too young to understand the severe weight of what she was getting involved in. An angry teenager with a disappointed father, she had run away and taken the first opportunity for that shimmering life of wealth and power she so desperately sought. Only a few opportunities are given for an individual to decide their path in life; and one misstep, can lead to a complete and total loss of that control.

Selfish choices, believing that she had all the answers. Denying every kind hand, or constructive advice sent her way. Biting at hope like a frightened stray. Back then, Erin truly believed Garrett was wrong. Believed that she could outshine him, force her adopter to admit his own failings. It was foolish choices-one after another-that had brought Erin into her current situation; nothing less.

She broke into an uncontrollable sob, burying her head in her hands as if that would hide her tears from the concerned teenager. Nellarose knelt down-and, against her better judgement-held her tight as she wept. Erin gradually brought her face up out of her arms and stared at the Grower, shoulders heaving, and tears streaming out of her eyes.

"Why do you care?" She sniffled, and wiped the tears and running mascara from her eyes.

"You're hurting. Do I really need a reason?" Nellarose offered a comforting grin.

Erin looked down and met those big reptilian eyes of her burrick. It stared up at her as she continued to weep. A reason? That's what everyone else had ever needed. Save Garrett, and the rest of Erin's mismatched family of taffers. Sophie, Basso, Gwenevere. None of them had ever been given a reason to put up with her, yet they always had. She numbly wrapped her arms around the juvenile burrick's neck, and held her close.

Maybe it was time to try and take control of her life again. Perhaps it wasn't too late to make a good decision.

"Okay, I'll keep her."


	63. Chapter 63

What can be said to truly describe complete loss of control? To never move from one's bed again, confined by the very demons you've sworn to vanquish from your world. Like so many others who have had the misfortune to loose all freedom at the hands of their adversaries, Ayeena did not have the answer. The Pagan woman spent her days laying on her back, staring at the patterns in the ceiling. She did not move, nor speak anymore-not even to Nellarose. As far as she was concerned, her time on this earth was at an end.

No longer would she be able to gallivant freely through the untamed wilderness, feeling as the grass and branches tickled her body. The scent of raw earth, intermingled with fresh rain after a storm, the beauty of a full moon. Nature's music, sacred fire pits eating away at sylvan-blessed tinder. These were all sensations that Ayeena would never experience again. She was trapped underground, with a hooded stranger, for the rest of her life.

Not surprisingly, the young woman did not turn her head as she heard the door to her room creak open. It wasn't until her peripheral vision noted that the intruder hadn't taken a single step inside, that her interest drew her to look. Slowly, the emotion she had thought herself now numb to, began to flood her body like a powerful storm. Ayeena was powerless to stop the tears as they subconsciously began to flow out of her eyes.

There in the doorway, stood Gwenevere. Her long-lost Woodsie Child friend.

The nymph was crying as well, the first happy tears to leave her eyes for quite some time. Now it was Gwenevere's turn to feel completely numb, as she stared unblinking into the face of her only childhood friend. She'd grown tall and beautiful. Blossoming into a fair-haired warrior; though the faint glimmers of mischievous starlight still remained within her hazel eyes. Her bare feet hardly felt the dirt as she padded towards Ayeena, who had been rendered breathless by her presence.

"Ayeena..." Gwenevere began, her lips incredibly dry. It was as if all moisture had left her body through her constant flow to tears.

"Woodsie Child...bes...bes that you?!" Ayeena's breath caught in her throat. Gwenevere's eyes shimmered with emotion, and she slowly nodded her head. The Pagan gasped.

"I bes figures you deaded...the Hammerheads-" she began.

That was all just too much! With a shake of her ruby mane, the little nymph squeezed her eyes shut and cried out, "-none of what they said was true! I'm here Ayeena! I've always been here, in this city." She rushed over and squeezed her friend, pulling her malnourished and limp form into a meaningful hug.

"I thought that you were dead! That night...I-I heard you scream..." Gwenevere shuddered so hard, that Ayeena could feel it. She was silent in the nymph's arms for what felt like hours, just feeling as the years began to rush back to her.

"I did bes screamers, yes," Ayeena confirmed. More silence followed, and Gwenevere at last opened her eyes.

"But you were unharmed?"

"Yes. Sister and me bes savered, by mother." The Pagan locked eyes with her best friend, and more tears began to stream down her face. "I bes screamers, because they deaded her..."

Gwenevere, was speechless. So much death had come of that night, and as horrible as it sounded, she couldn't help but think to blame herself. Simmons had come for _her_, after all. If only she had known that! Gwenevere would have gone quietly, in order to keep those she held most dear safe.

"They killed Alma? But she was..."

"A most wonderful woman, yes." Keeper Mcclay's voice rang from around the corner. Both Gwenevere and Ayeena looked in his direction. Surprisingly enough, Nellarose was standing beside him.

"Keyper Mcclay? How do you know-" Gwenevere started.

But her quandary was rendered moot, as the little green wisp once again exited one of the Keeper's airy sleeves. Mcclay watched her expectantly, a most tragic look in his brown eyes. Gwenevere stared up at him, as it all began to make sense to her.

"Didn't you say that your wisp's name was Alma?" Her eyes narrowed in contemplation.

"Yes, much like the Pagan woman you speak of. She never left this world. Instead, she defied all the odds to remain at my side."

Keeper Mcclay walked past Gwenevere, as if she wasn't even there. He silently approached Ayeena's bedside, Nellarose still keeping pace behind his hunched form.

"Do you understand now why I brought you and your sister to stay with me? Ayeena Mcclay."

Ayeena gasped, her eyes growing as wide as two moons. The spirit of her mother bounced and drifted just out of reach, illuminating the Keeper's face with a serene teal glow. He was smiling now, and it was a warm and comforting sort of visage-one the Pagan had only ever witnessed upon one person prior to now. She began to remember a mysterious hooded man in the forest. He was not one of the people, yet they treated him with a certain level of respect, and trust. He seemed to have an unspoken connection to the woodsie folk; an unnamed partnership, of sorts. But most importantly, she remembered his eyes. Those large, wisdom-infused, bear eyes.

"...father wearers hood..." She gasped. Mcclay nodded.

"Yes. I caused so much trouble that night. I didn't want to, didn't mean to. I should have never consorted with Simmons OR Karras." He sneered. "But I...had been asked to monitor them by her. By Viktoria. I was chosen as one of her agents against the Mechanists."

"The Lady...chosers you?"

"Yes. I assisted her with many tasks, Ayeena. Some of which, she was not entirely made aware of."

The Keeper turned his gaze upwards, suddenly lost in time.

Ayeena and Nellarose were now sobbing, clutching to their father's robes as he fought to refrain from breaking apart himself.

"I am forever burdened with the knowledge that it took me this long to re-locate you two after the accident. I only hope it is not too late for us to be a family again," the elder offered, his eyes glassy with tears. Both girls hugged squeezed him even tighter than before.

"Of course it's not pa!" Nellarose affirmed.

"Bes never too late," Ayeena agreed, "to bes starters again."

The Keeper nodded, his face pallid, and awash with intense emotion. Then he looked up at the little nymph, who had reunited him with his estranged children.

"Gwenevere. The memories that I promised to help you find, were always yours in the first place. So instead, I offer to grant you whatever you request of me. I will still aid you in re-discovering your past; I swear it!" Mcclay's voice shifted, suddenly becoming much more intent and brazen than was usual for him.

Gwenevere, took notice-and she recognized the meaningful integrity behind such a change.

"Of course I'll stay and help you guys!" The little nymph cheered, her demeanor now once again that of the jovial creature Keeper Mcclay had come to know.

The elder's lips grew taut, and he stifled back a near inaudible sob.

"Thank you, Gwenevere. Thank you."


	64. Chapter 64

**RAP! RAP!**

Erin brushed unkempt black bangs from her eyes, which were laden with bags so dark, that it looked as though she had been punched multiple times. Without even waiting for a response, the door swung open.

"Rise an' shine!" Nellarose called out cheerfully. All she got in return, was an annoyed moan, as the burrick began to nibble and nuzzle her bare toes.

"Hey! No Stinky!" Erin jerked back at the sensation, nearly kicking the reptile in the face. She looked up at the teenage Grower and scowled.

"What do you want?"

"You gonna sleep all day then?" Nellarose crossed her arms. Erin sighed.

Truth be told, she hadn't slept at all. Erin had been crying herself to sleep over the near two weeks that she'd been living down here with Keeper Mcclay. Those teary evenings had slowly warped into full-on sleepless nights.

"Tch, _no_..." She replied, tossing the blankets from her body. Nellarose took notice of the fact that Erin was still wearing the same outfit she'd first arrived in. The assassin scowled when she saw that the farm girl was smirking at her, almost as if suppressing a laugh that desperately needed to come out.

"What?!" Erin demanded.

"So, you named your burrick Stinky then?"

"Yeah, I did. Gotta problem with that?" The dark-haired rogue snapped. Nellarose's smile lengthened.

"Nope. I mean, it is a bit predictable, but I think it's cute." Her words prompted an intrigued stare from Erin. The teenager blushed, and immediately changed the subject.

"Well, do ya wanna go down to the washroom with me?" She pointed to the assassin's stained tunic. "Looks ta me like your clothes could do with a good scrubbin'."

Erin gave her an insulted look. That had certainly turned sour rather quickly!

"Aw, come on. My clothes aren't _that_ dirty yet!" She defended, reclining back on the bed. Stinky nudged Erin's feet again, and bellowed.

"_Seriously_?" Nellarose scoffed.

Releasing a frustrated sigh, Erin finally stood from her bed. She blew on her bangs again, and gave an exaggerated shrug.

"Okay,_ fine_! Maybe they could use a bit of a wash. But I don't have anything else to wear in the meantime, soooo..."

"Hey, it's no problem!" The Grower teen remarked. "You can borrow some of my clothes!"

"Uhhh..." The dark-haired young woman gave her an uncomfortable look. "No. That's really not necessary, okay?"

"Come on! I insist." Nellarose countered. Erin crossed her arms. She was beginning to think that this farm girl was just as stubborn as she was. With a purposefully loud groan, the assassin slumped forward and rolled her eyes.

"Fine...let's just get this over with."

***************************************************

The farm girl's clothes not only completely opposed Erin's usual style, but they were also incredibly itchy. The neck and sleeve lines felt like sandpaper as they dug into Erin's skin, and the material of the peasant dress could be easily likened to burlap. She had to wonder how anyone could wear something so uncomfortable.

"These chocolate stains just ain't coming out easy," Nellarose complained, adding more soap to the wash bin. "Whatcha been eatin' there Erin?"

The dark-haired woman tensed. She wasn't ready to tell her new Grower acquaintance the truth yet. That those were really bloodstains, and that she was an accomplished killer. A part of her cringed at the truth. Nellarose was the first semblance of a friend that she'd ever had. Garrett didn't let her interact with many children growing up, and she had been home-schooled in both books and life by her shady parent. Everything Erin knew about social interactions, she had learned from him. Needless to say, it wasn't much.

She did not want to ruin whatever this was, with Nellarose. The skeletons of her past would be complacent to dwell in the back of her mind for just a little bit longer.

"Eh, well you know me." The assassin weakly joked. Nellarose smiled, and began scrubbing Erin's shirt more vigorously.

"Still, I wouldn't have pinned you as having such a voracious sweet tooth there."

More discomfort followed those words, which the assassin deflected by hastily changing the subject.

"Sooo, do you know what Gwenevere's doing here? I saw her after breakfast this morning." The farm girl rinsed her hands, deciding to just let Erin's clothes soak for a while in the sudsy water.

"Sandris told me that Garrett dismissed her. Said something about how she'd never be a thief." She stated. Erin's eyes went wide.

So that was it! Erin had never known quite what her paternal teacher had seen in that playful girl. She was no rogue, no criminal. The assassin knew nothing of Garrett and Basso's initial deal; that he had been paid to train Gwenevere. In fact, Erin's theories as to why Garrett had chosen to train the nymph were probably about as convoluted and wrong as one could get. Initially, the arrangement hadn't been about passion-but rather perseverance on both of their parts.

"Well, I just don't get why he didn't tell her no sooner." Erin scoffed.

"What do you mean? Gwenevere seemed to be taking it pretty harshly." Nellarose questioned, wondering why her friend had even asked if she did not care about the new arrival.

"She's like that," Erin shrugged. "Sensitive."

She attempted to make a joke out of the entire thing, but stopped outright when she saw the anger budding in Nellarose's concentrated glare.

"Eh, okay. It's whatever." The assassin shook her head. "Where'd you go this morning anyway?"

The Grower's mouth dropped open at the unexpected inquiry.

"Keeper Mcclay wanted to speak with me and my sis. He told us...welp..." she gulped, still not fully recovered from the initial shock of the elder's dramatic secret. "...he told us that he's our father."

"So your father is a Keeper?! Woah-ho-ho!" Erin nearly fell back, laughing. "Wow, and I thought it was tough living in the shadow of a master thief. What's that even like?" She grinned.  
"That ain't no laughing matter, Erin!" Nellarose bristled.

"I know, I know. I'm sorry, alright?" The assassin tried to sound solemn. "I didn't mean anything by it."

"Fine. Then don't make any more stupid jokes, a'ight?" Nellarose grumbled, starting on her own laundry. Erin watched her work for a few minutes, waiting for the intensity of the moment to fade. She had accidently struck a nerve with the teen, and wanted to be extremely wary of her next words.

"You know, there's no reason for you to wash both of our clothes." Erin finally commented. Nellarose looked up from her work through curious eyes. She seemed to have calmed down a bit.

"Oh, it's no biggie! You can wash the next batch, if you're feeling generous."

"Uhh...didn't say I was," Erin huffed, smiling nervously at her friend. "I just didn't think you should have to-"

"Don't worry about it then." Nellarose interrupted with a smile. "Consider it a favor."

Erin took a flustered seat beside the Grower, unable to even thank her. There were far too many butterflies in her stomach now.

A favor. No one had ever done her a favor before; at least no one whom she had just recently met like this. The assassin stared pensively at Nellrose, taking in the teenager's every feature within her enchanting cerulean eyes. Why was she so nice? What was her angle here? A shiver graced the nape of her exposed neck, as Erin slowly began to consider that Nellrose might not have one.

_Then why? Why does she want to be my friend?_

************************************

Gwenevere straightened the bonnet atop her head, and smiled at her appearance in the mirror. She was wearing a lavender dress and petticoat, with little blue flowers embroidered into lace at the waist and neckline. Pilfur mewed approvingly as the nymph gave herself a final once over. Today was her luncheon with Sophie, and Gwenevere couldn't wait to tell her the good news. That she was soon to be a mother.

"I'll see you this evening Pilfur, bye!" Gwenevere scratched one of his cheeks, gave each of her seedlings a sprinkle of water, and exited the small room.

********************************************

Old Quarter was a surprise for Gwenevere. She had previously seen some of Stonemart, Skinmart, and of course Auldale, but only when she'd been accompanying Garrett around during missions. Venturing out almost exclusively at night, and only to learn and steal for her mentor. Needless to say, she knew very little about life within The City, or its populace.

So far, the nymph found that she liked it. Gwenevere was also impressed at the range of business opportunities in the bustling city. The locals were friendly enough to her, and the watch was far from the menacing brutes she'd come to view them as under Garrett's instruction. Most were upstanding, brazen individuals who took great pride in their work. Although a few seemed rather disgruntled and hostile, and some of the bluecoats were just downright incompetent.

There was not only an expert blacksmith, but also a potion shop, pawnbroker, and a grocer which carried everything one might require for food, drink, and even gifts. She hadn't expected so much to be available. There was even a fashion shop that carried sweet-smelling oils and perfumes, and expensive clothing. But the florist stall was her favorite. A cheery woman curtsied and smiled at Gwenevere, when she stopped by to take a whiff of some particularly lovely roses. The nymph had a feeling that she would be visiting that place quite a bit with her newfound freedom.

When she reached the street that Sophie's safehouse was on, Gwenevere nearly laughed in spite of herself. There were several bluecoats and around fifteen Hammerites huddled around the crumbling tunnel Erin's burrick had made. Only a few of them were making any sort of conscious effort to repair the place, and most of those were the Hammerites. The others were simply standing around the gaping hole, trying to look busy.

Not wishing to draw attention to herself with the Hammers about, the nymph quickly ducked into the shadows and slunk to Sophie's front door. She only had to knock once, before her surrogate mother answered. Sophie was dressed in simple peasant attire, a dark brown cape and cowl draped around her susceptible flesh.

"Hey honey!" The boxman's sister greeted in a merry voice. "Ready to do the town?"

"Yes, am I ever!" Gwenevere tried to stifle a squeal, but her exuberance was still loud enough to prompt a few less occupied bluecoats to glance up at her. She smiled sheepishly and waved, causing the men to tip their helmets at her. Sophie smiled. Gwenevere certainly seemed happier today.

"Well then, shall we?" The middle-aged pauper extended a hand to her child. "I know just the perfect spot for us to dine."

Gwenevere graciously accepted Sophie's gesture, and hand in hand, human woman and wood nymph daughter strode down the cobblestone roads.

"Ugh! I can't tell you how grateful I am to be out of that stale building." Sophie began, shaking her head.

"Why? I thought you loved it there, Sophie," Gwenevere worriedly commented. "Is something the matter?"

"Oh, it's nothing dearie. I just don't relish the thought of all those bluecoats and Hammerites working outside my door." Sophie replied.

"I understand." The nymph nodded. Sophie examined her face, looking for any sign of sadness or pain. She was rather surprised and relieved when she saw neither within the young woman's features.

"So, Mcclay treating you alright?"

"Oh yes! We're all having such a great time!" Gwenevere exclaimed with the gleefulness of a small child.

"All?" Sophie crooked an eyebrow. "Ah, you must mean his boy Tobias, yes?"

"Not just him." The little nymph giggled. Sophie stopped walking, and turned to face her.

"Well, wait a minute. How many people are down there, Gwenevere?" She asked, growing a bit concerned. Gwenevere stopped and thought about it for a moment, seemingly trying to put faces to numbers inside her head.

"I think there are eight of us in all. Myself, Keyper Mcclay, Erin, Tobias, Sandris, Ayeena, and Nellarose. There's also this other guy, but he hasn't been around much lately, and I haven't even met him yet. Oh! We've all been having such a great time Sophie! It's just like being back with the Pagans!" She raved.

Sophie began to relax, though she couldn't help but wonder why Keeper Mcclay kept so many people with him. Weren't the Keepers supposed to be solitary whilst away from their fellows? She also wondered if the Erin Gwenevere spoke of, was the same Erin. But the older woman quickly dismissed it as a mere coincidence. That haughty girl would never go within a hundred yards of any Keeper, thanks to Garrett's utmost scorn for them.

"Well, I'm very happy for you then." Sophie nodded. "It sounds like you're fitting in nicely." Gwenevere giggled again, and the two continued their procession deeper into The City.

**********************

Gwenevere shifted in her seat and began to laugh. She sipped her wine and began to choke on it, which only caused her to laugh harder. Just as Sophie was about to begin patting her back, the nymph's coughing ceased, and she waved her hand away with a smile.

"You okay there, hun?" Sophie asked, taking a sip of her own wine.

"Um, yes. I'm afraid that I haven't grown accustomed to alcohol quite yet." Gwenevere hiccupped.

"Well, you haven't been drinking it for very long, dear." Sophie smiled. "You'll gradually build up both a liking and tolerance for the stuff. Why, I remember when Basso and I first drank-we couldn't stand it!"

"Basso didn't like alcohol once?!" Gwenevere gaped in a disbelieving stupor.

"I know! Amazing, yes?" The older woman burst with laughter, lost within her memories. Then she gathered herself with a long sigh, and rested her chin against her interlocked fingers. "What can I say; times change. People too."

Gwenevere smiled sadly. They most certainly did.

She was maturing, growing as both a nymph and human simultaneously. Sometimes, Gwenevere could scarcely believe that she'd only been on her own a few weeks now. Already, she had made serious plans for both her future, and that of The City. She had finally finished Garrett's lent book, and it had given her a rather appealing little idea.

Robber Hood had his band of merry thugs. They stole from the rich, and gave to the poor instead. What was to stop Gwenevere from doing something similar with the skills she had acquired from Garrett?

But in order for this idea to take physical form, the nymph would first have to get to know the oppressed masses she so desperately yearned to help. So, as she sat there at the café with her surrogate parent, Gwenevere had her first goals clearly in mind. Some of these were straight-forward, but others weren't so clear. How was she to gain friends? Buy drinks for people? Talk to them? Was she supposed to buy a house of her own in this place and host parties?

It was painfully apparent to Gwenevere that between being the Woodsie Child, a kidnapped nymph, and a Master Thief's apprentice, she had lead an extremely sheltered life. She still really did not know what she was doing-or what she was suppose to do-without Garrett there to guide her. But at least she had some semblance of a plan. The nymph took another drink of her wine, and this time she did not choke.

"I had the most strange dream the other day. It was raining blood from the sky; can you imagine?" Sophie exclaimed, her face flushed with a slight uneasiness.

"Wow, do you humans always have such terrible nightmares then?" Gwenevere questioned. She knew Garrett did.

The nymph had lost count of how many times this had happened; certainly more than any outside observer would suspect from the inverted and seemingly self-contained thief. But Garrett had by far, some of the absolute worst night terrors that Gwenevere had ever heard of. He would toss and turn in the bed, muttering about ligneous talons-and pleading a helpless string of, No..nonono...NO-before jolting upright in a panic, stricken with night sweats. That was when his screaming would begin in a downright blood-chilling pitch.

Sometimes during the screaming, he would begin pawing at his empty eye socket. Other times, Garrett would scream her mother's name, or Erin's. Still other times, it was her name.

"I suppose sometimes we do," Sophie shrugged, chuckling a bit. "Do nymphs not have nightmares then?"

"Oh, we have them. Just, not nearly as often as humans do. We usually only have bad nightmares right before something awful is about to happen. I think my mother called it, premonition?" Gwenevere tried her best to explain, though she did not fully understand all of what she was saying. "The older nymphs can understand them, decipher their dreams. Some can even use them to plan ahead, and prevent the tragedy. But not me."

"I see. Hmm, that's very interesting. We know so very little about your kind." Sophie nodded, obviously enjoying the conversation.

"Yeah, that's what Keyper Mcclay told me too!" The little nymph cheered. "That's why I've started helping him decode some of his tomes on ancient nymphs."

"Ahh, that's so fascinating dear! I'm really proud of you."

"Thanks!" Gwenevere closed her eyes in jubilation, and looked around at the cafe's stunning décor.

The theme was clearly trying to mimic that of Nethalzia, with long panoramic murals of deep forests and stunning seasides decorating most of the walls. There were also several hanging plants and vines reclining lazily over the upper ledges and scaffolding of the eatery. Tiny porcelain vases sat neatly atop some of the tables further back, complimented nicely by fitting green napkins and silver utensils.

"So, what was it that you wanted to tell me Gwenevere?" Sophie suddenly asked out of nowhere. Gwenevere's head snapped upright when she heard the question. A slight blush found the little nymph's face, as she realized that she had completely forgotten her initial reason for spending a day out with Sophie.

"Um, well..." Gwenevere downed the rest of her drink, hoping that it would loosen her tongue. "Well, when you asked what I was growing-"

"Yes?" The older woman encouraged.

"Well, those are my babies." Gwenevere's eyes twinkled with both pride and delight.

Sophie stared at her, cupping a hand up around her trembling lips and feeling as tears began to involuntarily stream away from her overjoyed, blue-grey eyes. At that moment, though she'd lost all hope of such blessings, Sophie learned what it meant to become a grandmother.

"Your babies?!" She whispered. "Gwenevere...that's...wonderful news."

"Really? I'm so happy you think so."

The words left Gwenevere's lips in an almost equally silent hush. She looked down at her half-eaten plate of fresh berries and steamed fish, wondering why it made her suddenly feel so disheartened to be speaking of her young. Sophie noticed this change too, and immediately wiped away her celebratory tears.

"Gwenevere?" The older woman's soft query floated about her, and the care and concern within her surrogate mother's voice blanketed Gwenevere in a surreal, yet powerful cloak of safety and comfort.

"Yes, Sophie?" She choked. Sophie stood, and re-positioned her chair so that she was now sitting directly beside the emotional creature.

"I think I know what is troubling you-and I know that it has you very frightened, Gwenevere." Sophie informed, gently stroking her child's unruly hair.

"But I don't know how to be a mother!" the nymph gasped, her breathing coming easier now. "I barely know how to take care of myself without Garrett!"

Sophie silently repressed the urge to hurt something. Even if Garrett did not know what the seeds were, he was still guilty in her mind. Honestly, Sophie still had yet to truly forgive him for the last time he had callously sent Gwenevere packing. Needless to say, this new development did nothing to earn the thief any of her sympathies.

"I ... I don't even know where to start, Sophie." Gwenevere started again. "Nymphs don't usually raise their young the way people do. Only if they chose to do so. Only if they feel the child is really, really special."

They were different than humans, and Gwenevere desperately hoped that Sophie understood this-rather than the alternative of her assuming that the nymph before her was some sort of selfish beast. In truth, her kind was best likened to sharks-in more ways than one. Nymphs came into this world, completely capable of fending for themselves. In order for a nymph to mother any of her spawn beyond finding a suitable place in the forest to plant their seeds, there usually had to be a damn good reason.

In Viktoria's case, it had been duty. A ritualistic union between two elements of nature to produce a compound so vile, that no force could hope to stop the Dark Project from reverting the world back into its raw form. But the plan had failed. Gwenevere had never been made aware of why, but it had just the same. Gwenevere's breath caught within her throat, thinking of how easy it would have been for her mother to simply send her away after that. With the Trickster vanquished, his mistress had still kept the Woodsie Child close-of her own volition.

Now, two decades later, Gwenevere had made a similar choice to keep her offspring close. But her reasons for doing so, were vastly different. Gwenevere was quite certain that her mother did not love the Trickster. She was his consort, his ally. But they did not share a chemistry beyond that which was necessary for achieving their goals. Gwenevere, had no such pact or duty to Garrett. Whether she was ever to see her thief again, the nymph was adamant to keep the seeds she had dedicated to him. And she had done so out of love.

"Dearie, I doubt that there are many women who feel much differently than you, at least in the beginning," Sophie explained, surprising the little nymph completely.

"But... but isn't a baby supposed to be a wonderful thing for a woman? Isn't a baby supposed to be the best thing she can do for... for..." Words to describe her sentiments slithered just out of Gwenevere's reach.

"A child changes everything; that is without doubt. For most, a child is the most remarkable miracle they can hope for," a maternal protection of her own began to darken Sophie's features. "But I'll also admit, as your friend, mind you, that not everyone feels the same. There are some people for whom a child is not... suitable."

Gwenevere closed her eyes, and began envisioning Garrett's cunning expression. That content look he gave her when she had done well in her training. The sparse smile he so rarely showed anyone, save her. What would he want? Would he find their children suitable, or would the lone rogue see them as a hindrance-or possible nuisance? Her own worrying had begun to disturb her greatly. The desire to not trouble him was still great, as was her fear of discovering that she may want something he did not. For the moment, however, she resolved to focus on fully acknowledging the situation that she was in, and then go from there.

Now Gwenevere was forced to face the truth that she had managed to deny confronting even in her own mind. Truth was not always beautiful; it could be a fiendish thing that could devour the best intentions and destroy the most cherished hopes. Garrett had already dismissed her, and she needed to start thinking for herself now. At least for now, such decisions were hers alone.

"I think I understand what you mean, Sophie," Gwenevere mumbled. "I'm pretty sure that Garrett never really wanted this. It just sort of...happened."

"That's how most babies are made, sweetheart," the older woman chuckled. "But regardless, you both are extremely lucky. Regardless of whether or not both of you see that."

Gwenevere nodded, fumbling with her napkin again. Regardless of the current state of their troubled relationship, she did not like making such weighty assumptions about the man she loved. Sophie clearly had no problem blaming the thief for every little issue to befall said relationship, but the nymph wondered if she indeed understood that many of these problems hadn't been Garrett's fault to begin with.

"Yes, I know. Thank you Sophie."

"No. Thank you for telling me, Gwenevere," the older woman suddenly pulled the little nymph into a tender embrace, and her tears resumed. "I love you so much my dear, and I'll be there for you every step of the way."

"Thank you Sophie, you are so kind to me. But...do you think we can talk about something else now?" Gwenevere suggested, trying not to sound rude. The boxman's sister gave her a confused look, but complied.

"Sure dear! What's on your mind then?" Gwenevere bit her bottom lip. It had been two weeks-she had to know.

"How's Garrett? Did he manage to pull off a successful heist on Mystic Manor?"

The way Sophie's posture slumped, immediately told Gwenevere that something was very wrong. The way her vibrant expression at the news of grandchildren had diminished into nothing more than a detached, downward stare. The nymphs green eyes grew luminous, flashing warning lights in her surrogate mother's direction. Literally begging for her answer to be far less grave than what was expected at that moment. Unfortunately, her feral signals were all but lost on a cityborn human, and Sophie slowly revealed the bad news.

"Gwenevere. Garrett never returned from his last job. No one has seen him in over two weeks."


	65. Chapter 65

The magic contained within this chamber, was by far the strongest. A hot wind whipped through his torn cloak, as Garrett realized the theme for the fifth area.

Desert.

Rendering the panther unconscious, had granted him access to room two, although Asteriah had been hesitant to allow him access to the next several trials. Most had been surprisingly simple for the clever rogue-moving a few statues around a room in specific order, or outwitting carefully laden fire traps. But unfortunately, and not too surprisingly, the water mage hadn't exactly held up her end of the bargain:  
_  
"I beat your little test, Asteriah!" Garrett had panted, shouting to the concealed watcher after his latest-and quite literal-trial by fire._

_"Oh, indeed it would appear so," his captor's silky voice had teased through the speakers, "however, I'm afraid I cannot go back on my word, thief. As I said before, you aren't getting out of here."_

Garrett already knew what this witch wanted-she wanted him to die here. But the crafty thief had also begun to deduce a striking weakness in her character.  
She could have forced him to remain trapped in that jungle boudoir with the man-eating cat. No doubt, the sentient beast would have been both hungry-and enraged-upon re-awakening. But that would have taken an upwards of four hours, hence the thief's first realization.

Asteriah, was an extremely impatient woman.

Instead, she had chosen to exercise the next test.

"Looks like your cloak got a bit singed back there, Garrett." The all-too familiar trill of mockery sounded from somewhere just out of sight. There were seemingly no walls within this new area, leaving the thief to ponder just what sort of test next awaited him.

_This is pointless..._ he groused. _Utterly, and completely pointless._

If he could just find a door. A window. Anything at this point. Garrett had even ventured through sewer drains and piping more often than he cared to remember. Survivalists do not fret over the comfort when they find themselves within a perilous situation. All that mattered in the end, was staying alive.

"That was some fancy footwork back there too," Asteriah continued to tease, interrupting Garrett's thoughts. "I did not realize that a man at your age could proove to be so fleet-footed."

The thief's expression soured slightly at her remark, but the reaction remained hidden beneath the shade of his cowl.

"As I told you. Killing me won't be easy. Better fools than you have tried." Garrett commented, his frown deep and concentrated as he spoke. He kept his tone level and low enough, that his captor wouldn't sense the anguish and exhaustion behind his words.

"A fool am I?" Asteriah chuckled. "But I'm not the one stuck in the maze now am I, little man?"

Garrett suddenly tensed. Little man? His remaining pupil contracted, and he gave a thirsty gasp. Where, had he heard someone call him that before?

"Who are you Asteriah? What do you honestly expect to get out of any of this?" The thief suddenly demanded, dropping his collected disposition for a much more hostile approach. Something about her words seemed eerie, and suffice to say, left him feeling extremely edgy.

"Who am I?" She laughed. "Well, all you really need to know, is that I'm the one running the game. The game you're about to lose."

And with that presumptuous statement, Garrett found himself being involuntarily forced down to his knees. The strange magic concealed within this next area began to project a tactile trance upon the thief; leaving Garrett feeling as if he had been wandering an actual desert for miles. Almost immediately, he felt as all moisture left his body.

"They say dying of thirst is an agonizing and quite terrifying ordeal. Unless of course, you can make it to the next area." The water mage continued to torment him.

Garrett's now shriveled, dehydrated body was trembling, his heart racing.

_The next area?_ He wheezed, lungs taking in sand and putrid hot air. How many more areas were there?! How did he reach the next one, if he couldn't even find the exit? The last few rooms at least had a door in plain view. Frantically, his eyes scoured the endless sand dunes before him. Wild winds tore at his vulpine face, rubbing it raw in minutes.

_I'm getting out of this hell. Somehow..._

He'd remained within this place for far too long. The magical essences of this game had kept him just alive enough to participate in its trials, but they had also begun to twist and distort his mortal senses-causing hallucinations. Visual enchantments were already unnerving enough for most; and Garrett was no exception. But when combined with the effects of dehydration, hunger, and pain...that was when they became downright horrifying.

Teeth ground, sweat and blood streaming down his brow, Garrett pressed forward. His throat felt like sandpaper, his wounds were on fire. Every step caused his bones to erupt with soreness and muscle cramps. Garrett panted. His vision was a misconstrued, hazy red, and the always perfect vision of his right prosthetic directly opposed that of flesh eye. A surreal, dizzy sensation threatened to overwhelm the thief-and eventually, it did.

His entire body trembled violently, nearly threatening to convulse.  
_  
Am I to remain trapped here?_ These thoughts rumbled across Garrett's exhausted mind, spilling out through cracked lips in the form of a dull, hollow moan.

A part of the thief began to wonder what would happen of he just laid down to die. It was shameful to lose to some insane tramp like Asteriah, but all things considered, what choice did he really have? She wasn't winning by much, nor taking anything of substance away from his existence if it indeed came to that. Garrett had lived a full, and decently productive life in his own opinion. But, there was one gem he would be losing. A sentient Pagan crystal, far too valuable to be squandered.

His remaining hazel eye remained glassy and disoriented, as it gave one last glimmer of defiance.

The thief had never known true purpose before. He had known suffering, survival. Not purpose. Like a fish swept up in a mighty current, or a gear rotating in time within the workings of a Mechanist device, Garrett took his life in stride, living in the moment-or more often, enduring it. But now, as a vision of Gwenevere tending to their seeds flashed through his mind, the possibilities of that new future started to urge him forward. Garrett was beginning to finally grasp some semblance of just what it meant to aspire for something untouchable.

He _had_ to see her again. He _had_ to rectify what he'd done to her. If he made it out of here, all previous decisions would be void. She could be his apprentice again-he would gladly train her once more! She could have anything she wanted, as long as he could keep her.

Were men like him meant to feel affection? The Keepers had certainly never thought so. But life without purpose was meaningless, just as a heist without profit was a waste of time. The thief could die alone, he would not mind that. Garrett wasn't afraid to die. But before death came, he wanted to live. Wanted to experience the rush of the journey. And he wanted to experience that, with Gwenevere.

Brows furrowed, a new concentration raced through Garrett's veins. He groaned, cursed-pushed himself painfully onward. The thief was crawling now, grinding his teeth as the blood from his numerous injuries screamed for him to give into exhaustion. Sweat dribbled from his face, dabbling the golden sand with precious moisture. Garrett was no fool. He knew that sweat was his life force, spilling out across the relentless desert. He stopped for a moment, desperately trying to rest his mangled, drying form.

That's when he noticed the hills on the horizon.

It would take a considerable amount of stamina and willpower on his part. The thief didn't know what he would even find over those golden hills, or if there would even be an exit to this sadistic maze. Garrett realized that if he exhausted himself from the journey-if he reached the other side of the desert and found nothing-then he would be spent; and so would his life. But if he refused to venture forth, he was already dead.

Garrett lunged forward, clawing at the sand for desperately sought traction. His long arms, strong from years of archery, kept his quivering body upright as he pressed forward at an excruciatingly slow pace. Sand stung his eye and face, and his tired and sore muscles begged for him to stop. But tenacious, stubborn Garrett wouldn't stop.

"Just...a bit...further..." he grunted through raspy breaths, and dry gags.

_I'm coming after you Gwenevere._

Through his sharp eyes, the thief could now see a small stony alcove less than fifty feet away. A bloodied, discolored hand grabbed at the sharp rocks along the deserts dunes. He pulled himself free of its torments, and lay upon the craggy cliff. Upon gradually crawling forward, he immediately discovered a large stone door. Both strength and hydration renewed themselves as he touched it, the sinister forgotten magic fading in wake of the next trial.

Garrett stretched out his sore arms, groping blindly, running his hands along the walls, feeling for a way out. Garrett let his hands glide along the sandy surface of the door, expertly searching for any keyholes or knobs in the blinding blackness. Asteriah hadn't counted on his spare set of lock picks, and the thief applauded himself on playing the terrified fool so convincingly.

No locks. That immediately caused all hope to drain out of his body like icy sweat.

The symbols and carvings within the new area of the mansion seemed to indicate something of a story. Garrett couldn't help but wonder if, despite his commissioner's previous lies, something of great value might still be hidden away within this place. Mystic Manor was, after all, the retirement villa for only the most accomplished and influential members of the Hand Brotherhood. Surely mages of that caliber held their share of treasures and rarities.

He had made his way about ten steps down the corridor, when Asteriah's taunting voice flooded the room once more.

"Well played, Garrett."  
_  
So there's a speaker and a watcher in this room too. Great..._ Garrett rolled his eyes, whilst drawing out the last word within his mind.

"However, I'd first like to propose that you be very cautious when using your tools here, Master Thief." The cunning vixen continued from beyond sight. Garrett knew that she could see him, via that damned Mechanist device. The thief had never relished the idea of being watched-especially in unknown territory.

"Oh? And why is that?" He groused, against his better judgement.

A more engaging charlatan of a criminal might have found speaking to her quite useful. Flirted with her a bit, or eased information from her confident lips like liberating honey. There was, in fact, an art form to clever flattery and manipulative words which Garrett wasn't all to familiar with. The Master Thief, preferred skill over trickery-and he preferred to keep things straight.

"Because, I highly doubt that you've brought enough gear with you for all of my trials, Garrett."

Not just doubt, but_ highly _doubt_._ Garrett's eyes narrowed ever so slightly. She certainly didn't give him much credit, now did she?

_We'll see lady. We'll see..._

Vines crept along the sides of the room like a living wallpaper, while tiny beetles skittered around in the encroaching darkness as Garrett progressed through the dimly lit hallway. The stone walls held a dusty, reddish color to them, and the floor was cracked in several places. This area of the mansion was so ancient, that some of it was crumbling. Garrett slowly stepped along the worn path, bringing out a fire arrow to light his way.

Suddenly, the thief stopped abruptly. Not seven feet in front of him was a big hole in the ground. Intrigued that it may be a way out, Garrett sniffed the air for any signs of the outdoors. No such luck. The pit itself, had a musty, decaying smell. He aimed the arrow down into the hollow, and saw that there was water within. Was it an underground spring? Did the water erode and collapse the floor above? Or was this simply another trap. Garrett couldn't help but grin. If it was, it was an extremely obvious and stupid one.

_You mages are gonna have to try harder than that._

The water was moving quickly, and there was no way to tell just how deep the pool actually was. The thief could see his reflection within the wayward spring; the water bubbling and rippling over the image of his concerned face. Garrett squinted his eyes and leaned over the pool, trying to gage whether or not he could simply swim or leap across the gap.

Suddenly, the floor in front of him shifted under his weight. Garrett gasped, watching as his poorly secured fire arrow fell into the abyss below. It exploded on impact, far enough down to cause the thief much dread over just how great his fall would be. The survivalist within him came into play, and Garrett desperately groped at what little remained intact of the crumbling floor.

Unfortunately, it was much too late. The thief was falling. Wild laughter flooded his eardrums, as Garrett covered his head and embraced for the inevitable pain of impact.

************************

He landed with a loud splash. There was a large collection of deep water below; enough to cushion the fall. Aside from a few nicks and scrapes, Garrett found that he had just endured a drop that would normally have resulted in a broken limb. Most would call this lucky, but the thief did not believe in such trivial notions. He groaned in the darkness, trying to gauge his new surroundings.

At first it appeared that he was alone. But then came the inevitable realization that caused the rogue to quiver. Snakes. Hundreds of them, their eyes leering up at the thief like thousands of tiny gems. But that wasn't all. Scurrying about, were at least a dozen or so toxic spiders. Garrett felt the blood drain from his face. He absolutely hated both of these creatures; albeit for completely different reasons. With snakes, it was an almost instinctual fear. But with spiders...well, needless to say, they were why he couldn't eat steak anymore...

Garrett gasped again as one of the snakes slithered over his lap, seemingly oblivious to the thief's presence.

"So, you survived your fall, did you?"

Asteriah's presumptuous voice only added to the discomforting trepidation of Garrett's current situation. He didn't answer her this time. His mechanical eye scanned the blackness, but to no avail. Garrett quickly denoted that her voice must still have been coming from the room overhead. In the murky underbelly of his current hold, he couldn't see any sort of watcher present either. The mages words came again.

"How do you like the little guardians of our basement, hmmm? I do hope they're making you comfortable down there, thief."

Garrett fought to keep the discomfort he was feeling separate from his face. He did not want his captor to view any sign of weakness. But the 'guardians' of this new area, were growing far more bold in their curiosity. Garrett sighed, gritting his teeth as an unseen snake lightly gripped him just below his knee. Garrett turned his head to the right in time to see the head of a second snake creeping down his shoulder.

_Well, at least the spiders aren't particularly friendly._ He sneered.

The thief wasn't truly nervous, until they proceeded to slowly slither and crawl across his face. Garrett struggled, but to his horror, found himself petrified. Something like thread, only much more adhesive now held his ankles and arms firmly locked behind his back. He grunted, and managed to tear free one of his extremities. His leather bracer, was coated in thick and silvery cobwebs. Garrett clenched his teeth in a mixture of apprehension and disgust. He absolutely despised spiders, and there were now literally hundreds of them spinning translucent but effective bounds around his body. The silent terror he felt at that moment, was nothing short of unimaginable.

Garrett didn't like to be contained, either. Not since what had happened with his eye. Binds that he could not sever, pinning him into an uncomfortable and helpless state of being. Garrett was certain that he would have lost all focus, if not for an even stronger emotion that surged into life, keeping him ever-aware and conscious.

Anger.

The thief was furious, that Asteriah had not only tricked him into coming to this accursed place-but she was also somehow probing his mind for such specific fears. Using them to torment him like this. Without further provocation from the persistent arachnids, he began to flail and resist their silken ropes. His captors seemed unfazed by his sporadic motions, even as the thief crushed several of them under his kicking boots. Unseen, Asteriah's smile lengthened.

_Keep agitating them. They'll soon bite you._

And indeed, she was right.

Garrett felt his mouth fly open at the jaw, but he did not hear the enraged cry of pain that came forth. The spider's venom was working too fast. As the dank cavern grew hazy, and as Asteriah reveled in the suffering of her soon to be drowned quarry, the faintest of a raw green light began to glow from inside the thief's knapsack.

Gwenevere's ring.

The mages in the hidden observatory all began to silently murmur amongst themselves. Asteria stepped closer to the one-way mirror, and snarled down at the scene. The snakes and spiders were retracting back into their tunnels amidst the rocks and wall now, leaving Garrett reasonably untouched. Something about that wayward light seemed to frighten them.

"Damnation!" She whispered, "that won't be near enough poison to kill him."

Flipping a strand of blonde hair over her shoulder, the water mage started out of the observatory. She couldn't wait for Garrett to regain consciousness-he was going to die now. The water mage grinned with putrid desire at the sensation of his limp form slowly filling up with water. Or perhaps, she could use her ice magic to freeze him to death from the inside out? Or maybe...

On her way, a hooded mage grabbed at her arm. She turned around, glaring at him with a look of unspoken insubordination. The mage who now held her, was a master of air spells and tactics. His name was Horsen, and he was not the sort to be taken lightly. He held complete domination over weather patterns, and could stand unguarded against even the most vile of winds and hurricanes. There were even whisperings, that he had been the only Air Mage to master flight-hence what had earned him his place within Mystic Manor. Few even dared to argue with his decisions or desires.

Asteriah, knew no such fear.

"What?" She snapped, tearing her arm from his seemingly frail grasp.

"Where are you going?" was all Horsen asked. The look in his pale grey eyes, would have been enough to cause anyone else to re-take their seat. "You must not interfere with the trial-those are the rules, girl."

Asteriah stared at him through her cold lapis gaze for several seconds, then exited the room. The door slammed behind her, and the others all frowned.

"She's gone to interfere with the test, hasn't she?" A fire mage with a singed beard and crooked teeth intercepted in a bored tone. Horsen suddenly sprung to his feet, absolute disgust registering within his intense expression. "These young mages have no patience for tradition."

The air mage glowered over at him, his acute ears listening as Asteriah entered the dank room where Garrett lay unconscious. He would have order, and he would see that miserable thief die by his own fatal flaw. Greed. Else, he was better off just letting the man go. In order to end this charade quicker, the ancient spellcrafter decided upon the latter.

"This trial has been a sacred form of enlightenment and entertainment within the elite circle for centuries!" Horsen declared. "I will NOT stand idly by and watch as new blood defiles our sacred ways! The boy will die, but by his own failings-nothing less."

Before the others could object, the air mage's mind grabbed the downed thief, and teleported him to a place beyond seeing. Then he began to grin, silently listening as Asteriah shrieked from inside the chamber. When she had managed to storm back into the observatory, her hair was feathered out, madness practically spilling forth from her eyes.

"How dare you, fool wizard! That man was my play thing!" She screeched, falling to her knees like a defeated child.

"Insufferable woman!" Horsen's voice boomed like thunder. "We will have no more of your insolence! Since you have failed to play by the decided rules, there shalt be no game to speak of at all."

"Where did you send him?!" Asteriah locked eyes with the air mage, now trembling with hate.

Horsen, never did tell her. He never told anyone.


	66. Chapter 66

**TWO MONTHS LATER...**_  
__**  
**__Why did I come back here?_ Timothy Woksworth shuddered, as he scurried to make himself scarce.

The attorney hastily locked the door of his room, which served as both a sleeping area and an office. He pressed a worried ear to the doorframe, awaiting the sound of heavy, angry footsteps, accompanied by the steady _click-clack_ of his Lady Simmon's heels. His earlier wonderings had been of quite a curious nature. After all, despite what Gwenevere and her friends had done for him, Woksworth was still a loyal member of the Simmons household. They not only paid him to handle any and all of their finances and legal quandaries, but Lady Simmons had so graciously granted him room and board for a modest fee.

He owed the Simmons family a debt that was not so easily repaid. Before coming into the late lord's services, he had worked as a stable boy for another prestigious noble house. Studying law by candlelight at day's end, and coping with a rather demanding mistress had been quite an exhausting trial for the lad. He had triumphed in the end, although his devotion to his love of reading and law, rather than the scandalous desires of said employer, had caused quite a bit of trouble for him along the way. When she threatened to have him fired for refusing to adhere to her specific 'needs', Woksworth was thankfully ready to at last pursue a more polished career path.

The Simmons family had already made quite a mess of their prestigious name by taking in a young Pagan girl. But when her husband's death revealed a direct link to not only this-but also the blasphemous Mechanists-Lady Simmons had turned to the newly christened attorney for legal aid in protecting her personal reputation. She shared none of her Vladimir's delusions nor secrets-and the outspoken woman wanted the world to know it. Woksworth had been fighting to clear her name of all scandal over the last year. So far, it had worked.

Naturally, the young man expected his return into her services to be met with relived jubilation. He was sadly mistaken. Lady Lilithia had turned her full attention on Father Volkorn as of late-and her hasty pursuit of the baronship seemed to have fused with the High Priest's lust for a woodland purge. In his absence, Timothy found that she had become even more obsessed and driven than before.

So now, as the young man remained locked away from the insidious priest who'd literally branded him a heretic, Timothy Woksworth was thrust into a sea of perpetual despair. He had never so much as questioned his loyalties to Lady Simmons at any point in the past. She had delivered him from a terrible situation which held nothing positive for his future. But it was what the young man overheard next, that cemented his eventual return to The City slums.

To his Pagan savior, and her unlikely group of friends.

"Well _now_ it's simple, is it not? We both know who she really is-this One-Eyed Pirate Queen. Turn her in, let her hang. The inheritance, and the title of baroness will fall daintily right into my lap." Lady Lilithia giggled playfully.

"Let her _hang_?!" thundered the Hammerite High Priest. "One does not simply let a demon's spawn _hang_! The Last Mother must be turned over to me-she _must_ _**burn**_!"

Woksworth gasped, and there was a moment of tense silence from beyond his confines. At last, Lady Lilithia grew jovial at the suggestion, as a horrible plan took form within her mind.

"Ah! I like it! Leave it to me and my contacts. We'll find a way of convincing the unwashed masses of their little vigilante's required fate."

A shiver ran up Woksworth's neck, as the twisted creatures in the menagerie below began to howl and bellow with hunger.

***

The balmy breezes of Summer did nothing to phase Erin, as she ran further and further into the rain-slicked streets. Her mascara was smeared down both cheeks from a mixture of sweat and desperate tears. After Gwenevere had returned to the hideout, after she had numbly collapsed to her knees before them all. After the words Erin had always dreaded since childhood left the nymphs mouth like toxic gas.

Garrett, was missing.

Her chest burned from almost constant running. Gwenevere could cry all she wanted, and that decrepit Keeper could stand vigil. Neither was helping the assassin's father figure. That task, fell directly to her. She sincerely hoped that Nellarose wouldn't take her departure personally. They had grown close, and Erin genuinely felt a sense of trust and companionship with the Grower teen. Hopefully, the feeling was mutual.

Erin was many things; brazen, careless, bitter. But contrary to the popular assumption, Erin was not stupid. Garrett had taught her better than that. She was a methodical, practical sort-just like him. So of course, she was plenty aware of just what she was risking by leaving the safety of Mcclay's hideout. Ross and Bernard would be scouring The City and beyond to find their eloped wage slave. She'd once again abandoned the House of Blossoms, and once again, she knew that there would be hell to pay for such a choice. Last time, they had branded her. Before that, they had beaten the girl within an inch of her life, and then left her to starve in a cold dismal prison for a week. Erin cringed at the thought of what they would do, if they captured her a third time.

All she knew for certain, was that they wouldn't kill her.

You can't squeeze blood from a stone. Words to live by, for both of the Ramirez Bastards. The ponies in their gloomy stables were only done away with, once their usefulness was completely expended. Erin had sold her freedom long ago, and they would own her worthless hide for many decades to come. She knew this. She had accepted this. Never mind that there was a Master Thief lurking in the darkness who had dealt with far, far worse. Erin did not want Garrett to find out about this. It was her problem; and she would deal with the consequences of her actions alone.

She began to reflect on what Gwenevere had told them, of where the illustrious thief had last been seen. Gwenevere had her doubts about whether or not Garrett had succumbed to Mystic Manor on his own merit. In the little nymph's own words, he was too smart for that. No, instead, the thief's mistress had blamed herself. Through sobs that resembled nothing short of ear-bleeding creature howls, Gwenevere had revealed that she had bitten him upon her release. Her fear, was that the wound she had inflicted had resulted in a failed heist.

Erin now had a new reason to question her father's devotion unto that girl. _Bitten him?! What is wrong with her?!_

Even at her most upset, the dark-haired rogue would never have done anything like that! What Erin neglected to-or perhaps refused-to accept, was the fact that she had done far worse to Garrett with her words alone. The night of her own last job with the thief now took center stage within her memories. She remembered how she had willfully decreed, that even after all he had done-after all the years that he had loved her and cared for her as such-that Garrett would never be her father.  
She stopped to catch her breath, bracing an arm against a light post for support. Rain still fell hard upon her broken form, and in the distance the bell tower chimed once. Erin's blue eyes flashed.

_Past midnight already?_

It seemed that the hours had begun to mesh together with the days and weeks, creating a haze within her mind that the young woman could not so easily escape from. She panted there at the crossroads for a while, silently wondering if Garrett was alright. There was so much left unspoken. So many things that Erin desperately needed to tell him.

Perhaps the greatest of these, was also the most simple: _Thank you. For everything._

"Erin."

The gravelly voice instantly caused the assassin to freeze. She recognized it as belonging to another member of the Downwinders. They had found her. Erin went for her dagger as the three huge men with shaved heads stepped into the fading glow to the streetlamp. Her pupils dilated with fear when she suddenly remembered the obvious-Keeper Mcclay had taken all of her weapons when she'd first arrived at his hideout. In her rush to find Garrett, Erin hadn't thought to look for them before running off.

Before she could sprint, the first two advanced with a speed she would have determined impossible for such ridiculously large men. They incapacitated her by grabbing each of her arms and pinning her against a building. She writhed desperately, kicking her legs out at the men in an attempt to hit their more vulnerable areas. But each of them was as a tower of muscle, so there was very little she could actually do to defend herself against such an onslaught.

"Let go of me!" She spat. But they only pressed her harder against the faded brick wall. The man who wasn't holding her stepped forward.

"Three times, Erin. Boss says he wants no more funny business."

"You can keep this up as many times as you want," the dark-haired assassin proclaimed, her eyes wide with pain. "I'll just keep doing as I please; Ross and Bernard know this!"

"Yeah, they know alright," the bald ruffian gave a brisk nod. "That's why this time, things are gonna be different, see?"

"How do you mean?" Erin hissed.

"This time, you run away and someone else is gonna pay." Erin's face contorted in fear, and her mind was sent racing with possibilities. However, she tried her hardest to appear collected.

"Who do you mean?"

"Don't know. Maybe it's Basso. Maybe it's his sister." The thug leered into her with pure malice, "or maybe it's that thief who raised you. That's the beauty of it-ya never know, til' it's too late."

Erin shut her mouth after that, silently glaring up at her tormentors.

"What do you need me to do?" Erin demanded, trying to keep the tears from her quivering voice.

"There's a little show Saturday night at the House of Blossoms. Ross has left a little gift for ya back at yer shite-hole of a home. He also sends his regards for disabling yer all yer traps for him like a good girl."

"Is that it then?" The assassin ground her teeth, silently hoping that they would let her go with a new task and a warning. She should have known better.

"Just one more thing, luv..." The hooded man grinned hatefully. At these words, one of the men forced her wrist against an uneven space in the mason work, and as she struggled some more, he began to press.

"Get the hammer." One of the brutes restraining Erin ordered. The thug she had been talking to nodded through a wide grin, before producing a short but heavy hammer. Erin temporarily ceased her thrashing, and her blue eyes went wide with fear.

"No, wait! Hey!" She began to thrash manically, as he lined up the hammer with the delicate bones in her wrist, took aim, and...

He was interrupted by a loud, primal bellow. From out of the darkness, tore Stinky, green noxious gas flooding out of her mouth like rabid foam. The brutes immediately dropped Erin, and she gasped as she watched her pet charge. She had no idea how aggressive burricks could actually be. Garrett had always described them as clumsy and slow moving.

_They're too dense to know how dangerous they really are,_ he would scoff. _Well, at least that's the impression I always got.  
_  
Erin of course, believed this. She had assumed the mother burrick back in the sewers an anomaly-a particularly hostile specimen. But watching the way her own burrick attacked the three men, the young woman now realized what it actually had been. Similar to the way that tunnel burrick had been trying to protect her young from being abducted, Stinky now sought to protect Erin.

"Taffing hell! What's a bloody burrick doing on the surface?!" One of the thugs exclaimed, before being knocked several feel into the air by a swish of Stinky's powerful tail. His fellow rushed in to try and stab the creature, but ended up getting a generous helping of poison gas instead.

Stinky turned, and belched out another puff of sickly green into the last man's face. He unfortunately had his mouth agape at the time, so he succumbed to her deadly brew rather quickly. Once her tormenters lay motionless, Stinky padded over towards Erin. Her brownish reptilian stare grew dark as she gazed into her mother's shuddering, pain-filled blue eyes.

"Hey girl..." The assassin whispered. The burrick slowly bowed her head down, making a deep gurgling sound.

Erin stared at her for a few moments, wondering what she wanted. A sparse smile of gratitude found her dark lips, when she at last figured it out.

"Thanks," she grunted, and dragged her body up from the gutter. Once she had regained her balance, Erin gave Stinky a brisk pat on the snout. "You're the first pet I've ever owned, and to be frank, I haven't been doing such a good job."

Stinky craned her neck ever so slightly at this, causing Erin to smile even wider. In spite of all her previous failings, it was clear that this creature thought the world of her. Just as Nellarose had once said. Her calmness was short lived, when she remembered the thugs and their threat. If she refused to return to the House of Blossoms for the little 'show', someone in her close family circle would be paying the price for it.

Reluctantly, and with a dark despair written in her eyes like fading starlight, Erin began to frown.

"Thank you for saving me Stinky. But I'm afraid that it won't save me from doing every filthy task those Ramirez brothers ask of me. I still have to be in the show...whatever _that_ is..."

Stinky began to whine softly.

"Hey, I know. How could you possibly understand, right?" Erin teased sarcastically. Then, she hesitated. Looking around out of instinct to sense the presence of others, she sighed hard. "I've made some pretty dumb decisions girl. I know Garrett would flip his shit if he found out, and that's partly why I haven't told him. That and...well, I don't want him to worry about me. Or think that he always has to rush in and save my sorry ass."

Erin tried to force a chuckle, but even the burrick could tell that the gesture was incredibly fake.

"I don't want him getting hurt on my account. Ya see..." she rolled her eyes, and stared upwards at the gloomy clouds overhead. "I've never told this story to anyone. Not even Sophie and Basso know-cus' Garrett never told them either. You see Stinky, when I was just a kid...I ended up getting kidnapped. Some of Garrett's worst enemies had found out that he'd taken in a street waif, and they thought they could use me as leverage."

Erin paused here, remembering all the fear that went through her heart during that worst weekend of her entire life. How they had threatened her with knives and fists, even going so far as to cut her face while she screamed into some sort of Mechanist recording device. They had then sent said device to Garrett. That, was a big mistake.

In all of her days, Erin had never seen him so incredibly furious. He hadn't been stealthy that night; the thief had broken through the door of their hideout with a mine, stormed a room full of two dozen accomplished criminals without fear. And the look in his eyes...it was nothing short of hellish. The girl had always wondered just how angry the Master Thief would actually be, if some thug tried to steal from _him_. That night, she found out.

"Garrett saved me, of course. It was all just a blur. All I remember, was that he took out a flash bomb in each hand, and threw them into separate corners of the room. Then everything went white..." Erin grew stoic, and wiped a few congealed tears from her mascara-ridden cheeks.

She patted Stinky again, leaving her hand against her pet for just a bit longer. The burrick whined again, louder this time. She sensed the inevitable.

"Ever since that day, I have never wanted to inform Garrett of my troubles. He saved my life-twice now. It's time I learn how to save myself. One day Stinky, I'll find a way to break free of the Ramirez Bastards...or I'll die trying. But for now...because they've threatened those I love...I have to do what they say for just a little while longer."

She tried to make it sound positive-like she was finally ready to face responsibility, rather than accept her fate. Her hand began to slip off Stinky's nose, and as it at last fell back to Erin's hip, the creature whimpered and cried. Erin smiled sadly down at her pet.

"I have to go now. But this time, I want you to understand that I really don't want to leave you."

With that, Erin collapsed to her knees, and hugged her burrick as tightly as she could. She buried her face into the side of its jaw and began sobbing violently. Stinky nuzzled her shoulder, emitting a deep cooing sound. From around the corner, Nellarose heard everything...


	67. Chapter 67

The indigo labyrinth faded around him, as the outlines of another plain began to knit and trace through the orange light like patchwork. The scent of earthy soil was the first sensation Garrett could recall. Eyes of cautious survivalist and remnants of the lost metal age, slowly eased open; a sudden burst of harsh sunlight making his left eye sting. But Garrett couldn't look away for several seconds. Somehow, he had gotten himself out of that enchanted nightmare. Within moments, his shivering subsided, and he felt himself relax.

_I made it._ He told himself with a contented grin. _I'm still alive-for now. _

But his celebrations were short lived. Garrett scampered to his feet, and rushed off into the thick foliage surrounding the mansion. Asteriah had so carelessly made her true intentions known, and the thief had to make sure he reached Gwenevere before that psychotic woman did.

***

Finding a wood nymph in a dystopian metropolis was proving quite the difficult task.

Garrett couldn't find Gwenevere anywhere. He'd thoroughly combed all of her usual haunts, to no avail. As the thief jimmied his crowbar beneath Sophie's bedroom window for what seemed like the thousandth time, he let out a frustrated grunt. Sophie would be royally pissed with him, and he knew it. Garrett felt an unusually loud sigh leave his lips, when he realized that the condescending cow wasn't about. But neither was his Gwenevere.

"Damn it. Where is she?"

He stroked his bony jaw for a few seconds, looking around the dark kitchen. His boots caused the worn floorboards of the apartment to creak, despite his caution traversing the room. Garrett eventually reached the guest room, where he and Gwenevere had been living just before the incident. When his slender digits met with the doorknob, Garrett found that it was unlocked. The door creaked open, exposing the small room to the dimly lit hallway. Immediately, his stomach went cold.  
Pilfur, was gone. Not just Pilfur, but all of Gwenevere's articles were now absent from the guest room. Garrett's mind was viciously sent reeling. If she wasn't living with the boxman's sister anymore, where had she gone? Asteriah was looking for her, and the little nymph's life was surely in danger. And now, the only one who could protect her had no idea where she was.

But he at least knew someone who did. The thief rolled his eyes at the notion. But regardless...

"I'd still rather ask him about this than Sophie..." Garrett groused.

***

The task was simple-go back to the Crippled Burrick, and start by demanding his cut of the gold heist from Basso. If the old codger refused, then at least Garrett would have secured his façade. He wasn't about to apologize to anyone-least of all Basso the boxman. But he did want to know where Gwenevere had gone off to.  
The tavern was loud, crowded, and even smellier than usual as the thief stepped inside. His frown deepened as several drunk patrons lifted their flagons to the new arrival, a few bursting into off-pitch song. A bar wench waggled through the sea of patrons, her tight frock leaving little to the imagination. The thief looked around the congested room for any sign of the boxman, but to no avail.

_Downstairs..._ Garrett concluded, and exited the tavern.

***

He found Basso snoozing at his desk with the morning paper lazily draped over his eyes to blot out the mid-day sun. Gloria cawed when she spotted the wily rogue enter the hovel, but her master did not stir. Garrett muttered scornfully as he mulled over the crates of robot parts and trash. How could Basso throw away gold for this?!

But it didn't matter anymore. The thief had more important things to worry about than why a respected member of the underworld had gone soft. Garrett looked back over at Basso, and scoffed.

_Well, while I'm waiting for him to wake up I might as well take my cut..._

There was no sign of that robot anywhere, so he went to work searching the boxman's home for gold bars forthwith. Several overturned crates and moldy stacks of newspapers later, Garrett reached the conclusion that Basso must have finally made the sale. A wry smirk spread wide across the thief's lips, as he cautiously crept towards the slumbering boxman. Gloria cawed a second time when Garrett reached for the top desk drawer. He knew that's where his mate kept his money from deals and jobs. He pressed a long finger to his lips as he watched the bird through cautious eyes.

The thief gripped the knob between his thumb and index finger, and ever so slightly pulled. Inside, were a few invoices and old wrappers. Garrett's smile sank. No coin to speak of, whatsoever.

"Looking fer something?" Basso spoke from beneath the paper. Garrett nearly jumped at the sound of the middle-aged pauper's gravelly voice. Basso lifted the corner of the newspaper from his left eye, and grinned. "Yer a real arse, you know that Garrett?"

"So I've been told."

"You'd steal from _me _now? After all we've been to each other?" The boxman streached his back and sighed.

"I was looking for my cut of the gold bars, nothing more," the thief reassured. "And why are you so happy anyway?"

"Welp, I might have a reason to be angry Garrett. But as you can see, there ain't nothing worth having in there."

Basso stood from his chair and waddled over to his pet magpie. The bird greedily began to pluck bits from the stale piece of toast he offered her.

"So, did you find a buyer yet?" Garrett asked.

"Yup. Gonna take another three weeks before we get any money out of it though." Basso pulled up his sagging trousers.

"You mean you gave the gold away without getting paid first?!" Garrett exclaimed furiously. He slid his palm slowly down his face, leering at the boxman through the gaps in his fingers.

"No! Course not!" Basso snorted.

"Well then?"

"I had half the money, I swear it! But...see, I owed some taffers money and then Sophie thought I should buy some new clothes, and-"

"-Where's MY cut?" Garrett interrupted aggressively.

"Ima gettin' to that!" Basso hollered. "See, I told Gwenevere ta hang onto it for ya. Since you don't trust me anymore and all."

"Gwenevere!" Garrett's eyes lit up, and he rushed forward. There had always been a distinct height difference between boxman and Master Thief, and at that moment with Garrett nearly looming over Basso, it was quite noticeable.

"Where is she?" The thief demanded. Basso gave him a strange look.

"Ya mean you don't know?"

"No. I can't find her anywhere." Garrett admitted in a hushed tone, looking down at his boots.

"Do ya think they arrested her then?"

"Arrested her?!" The thief's neck snapped back at this. Basso crooked an eyebrow at him.

"Erm...you are really _really_ lost, aren't you Garrett?"

"I don't understand how any of this could have happened..." the thief cupped his palm over his forehead, his expression one of stunned disbelief. Basso sighed.  
"Here." He held up a fresh newspaper, and pointed to the front cover with a dirty finger.

On it, was a picture of a menacing young woman. She wore a small archer hat with a feather through the side, and a predatory smile on her full lips. One of her eyes was covered by an eye patch, which bared the Pagan faction symbol. The other seemingly burned through the paper, searing into any who would dare make contact with her.

"That's Gwenevere." Garrett started.

"Yeah, but I mean look at her! The bluecoat's crime artist got her image waaaay off if you ask me!"

"They try to make you look dangerous, so the public can have a clear conscience about turning you in." Garrett groused.

"Yeah, yeah I know." Basso smiled, slapping the illustration with the back of his hand. "But would ya _look_ at this?!"

"How long has she been wanted?" The thief remained pragmatic, despite his mounting unrest with the situation.

"She told Sophie and I that she's been doin' this vigilante shtick for two months now." The boxman shrugged. All color drained from the thief's features at those words.

"That's impossible," Garrett retorted. "I saw her yesterday, and she wasn't dressed like this!"

"Yesterday?" Basso looked worried.

"Yes, at Mystic Manor Basso!"

"Umm, okay. Whatever you say. But I thought you got done with that place over ten weeks ago."

Garrett's eyes went wide. Ten weeks?! He suspected that the mansion had been toying with his senses, and keeping him going without food, water, or sleep via magical essences. But there was no way he'd been locked in the Hand Brotherhood's little game for _that_ long! The thief glared unblinking down at the front page article again. The date matched the passage of time, which caused his hands to tremble. But there was something else written there too. In his haste, he hadn't even noticed the title yet. It read, _"Land loving nobles beware! The One-Eyed Pirate Queen strikes again!"_

"Alright Basso. I know we're not exactly on speaking terms at the moment," the thief murmured, tucking the newspaper into his knapsack. "But I need to ask...when was the last time you saw Gwenevere?" Basso gave a slight shrug.

"About an hour ago. Right before my nap. She was in here, complaining about her hat."

"Her _what_?" The thief gaped.

"Yeah. She wanted to say hi ta Soph as well, but little sis went out on the town today with some old guy. Can't quite remember his name, but he was wearin' a dress." Basso groaned.

"Basso, do you think Gwenevere might still be in the area?"

"Probably. The gal said she had one last thing ta do before headin' home."

"I gotta go." Garrett rushed away, sounding a bit nauseous.

"Uhh...well, okay then! See ya around maybe..." Basso continued to stroke Gloria's feathers, still noticeably confused.

***

Back in the muggy Summer streets, Garrett straightened his cowl and continued on his search for Gwenevere. While he looked, he scanned the front page article for some much-needed answers pertaining to his ex-apprentice. She apparently only stole from Auledale-which was Garrett's territory. She also only came out at night, and could often be seen in the slums with the beggars and peasants.

Why she was putting herself in such danger, the thief honestly had no clue. Perhaps she was trying to prove something to him? After all, that's what Erin would do. Garrett rolled his tongue as he walked, then swallowed. Gwenevere wasn't showy, nor had she ever tried to rival him in any way. Either she was taking her dismissal exceptionally hard, or Garrett was completely clueless as to what she was trying to accomplish.

"Hey, come here! I haven't given you any yet!" A cheery voice chimed from the alleyway on his left.

Garrett spun around and leered vehemently into the shadows. Sure enough, it was exactly who he'd been looking for. The thief watched in wonder as Gwenevere deposited a heavy sack of riches into the filthy grips of an older man. Beneath his tangled beard and sunken cheeks, a huge smile shone forth like a beacon.

"Thank you, miss." He bowed, over and over again upon trembling knee.

"Oh, you're very welcome! Now go and buy some nice food for the wife and son, alright?" The same girly voice commented.

Footsteps sounded. Garrett scurried to press his body firmly against the brick wall, awaiting the appearance of the woman in the alley. Or rather, the nymph. She dashed across the cobbles at a commendable speed, and Garrett couldn't help but notice how agile she was when determined like this. Keen eyes watched her speed through the thinning evening streets, silently marveling at her adamant drive. She appeared more focused than usual, as if pure passion had encompassed her work, seemingly overwriting her more clumsy tendencies. Garrett grinned. Was he just imagining things, or did the girl seem a tiny bit taller as well?

***

Gwenevere wandered home, her evening of arduous tasks now complete. Completely unaware that she was being followed, the girl led her tracker straight to Keeper Mcclay's unassuming lair. From the shadows, Garrett continued to observe her every move. He couldn't help but smirk at how ridiculous she looked. It was as if Gwenevere had just taken a little bit of everything she deemed righteous and exciting, and thrown them together as an outfit.

She stopped just short of the winding cavern entrance, taking a moment to relish in the moonlight.

"Good idea Pilfur! It is a wonderful night for moonbathing. Maybe I'll join you later!" She suddenly spoke with no provocation.

Pilfur greeted the nymph with glistening eyes. After stretching his back in an almost painful-looking display, he smacked his fuzzy lips and leapt down from an overturned mine cart. The feline weaved circle eights around Gwenevere's deer-like legs for a few moments, before gazing upwards at her. The two nocturnal hunters stared into each other for a while, before Pilfur released the most beautiful little trill.

"So, you're the One-Eyed Pirate Queen that everyone's up in a fuss over." The Master Thief announced from the shadows beyond.

Gwenevere spun around with a trembling gasp, her exposed eye widening with impossible hope.

"G-Garrett?!" She bleated like a frightened lamb. _Oh please let it be you!_

Out from the darkness he stepped, his stance almost beckoning to his late apprentice. A soft breeze rippled his cloak, causing a beloved sound that only his nymph could hear. He spoke one sentence to her, and it completely masked all of his pulsing emotions.

"Gwenevere. We need to talk." He'd barely got the last word out, when Gwenevere lunged clumsily at him. She wrapped her frail, quaking arms around his sides, and squeezed tight-holding onto her thief as if for dear life.

"I thought you were dead." A muffled voice came from the mess of red hair pressed into his chest. Garrett's features softened just enough, knowing that she could not see his face. He clapped a gloved hand over the base of her head, the other loosely tucked around her heaving shoulders.

"It takes more than a few old mages to kill me." The rogue scoffed with a wry grin.

Gwenevere sighed, allowing all sorrow and surprise to leave her mouth. Nothing mattered anymore, all bad blood previously shed between them temporarily forgotten. The little nymph embraced this moment, this hidden reunion beneath the waning moon. She reveled at the touch of his trained fingers and the scent of his smoky clothing. In that moment, all Gwenevere could feel, was sanctity.

"Oh Garrett! I-I'm so glad you made it out of that place."

"It was trying, and to be completely honest I'm not sure how I did it." Garrett retorted, his voice a bit distant. Gwenevere looked up at him, confused.

"What do you mean?"

"Gwenevere, do you remember the woman who initially sent us the Mystic Manor job? Asteriah?" He asked.

Gwenevere instantaneously grew tense in his arms. She did not want to remember. She was trying to put everything she and Garrett had done as thief and apprentice out of her mind for the moment. Because frankly, it still hurt too badly to remember even the simplest moments of her training.

"I guess so." She responded with a carefree shrug, rising out of his arms. Then she started to laugh, and motioned gleefully at her outfit. "Hey, do you like it? Now I'm just like Robber Hood!"

"What?"

"Well, yes. I did lose the red feather that goes to the hat, but it's okay! Basso gave me one of Gloria's, which I thought was awfully nice of both of them!" She giggled.  
"Gwenevere, do you even remember what I just asked?"

"Yeah, something about Mystic Manor," her smile sank a bit. "I don't really wanna talk about that right now."

"Well that's too bad Gwenevere, because this is important!" Garrett reprimanded, worried over her. "Listen Gwenevere, your safety is at stake here, so you need to really try this time, okay?"

The nymph narrowed her eyes at that. For the past two weeks, she had been mourning the loss of her most precious human. Only to find him alive; a moment which should have brought them both much joy. But no. Instead, Garrett thought that this was more important. She grew progressively more agitated as he continued, seemingly almost forgetting the tenderness they had shared moments before. Gwenevere, did not want to talk about anything having to do with the life of a thief, nor her terminated apprenticeship. But Garrett, for some reason was still acting as if she was his student again. She'd clearly moved on with her life-couldn't he see that?!

"Now listen carefully Gwenevere. If you ever see a blonde woman with her hair in a tight bun-if a woman named Asteriah ever contacts you...run. Understood?"

"Yes..." Gwenevere sighed, clearly annoyed.

"Good. Now come on, we're going home. You clearly haven't the slightest idea what you're doing without my guidance." The thief looked her up and down with a scoff. "I mean, look at how you're dressed! Do you even know what a pirate is?"

"Yes."

"Tch, apparently not, if you're giving money away under _that_ title. Pirates generally don't-"

"-Honestly Garrett!" Gwenevere cut him off with a shriek, "for once, could you not leap to your own conclusions without giving me a chance to explain?!"

"Gwenevere?" The thief took a step back, dumbstruck by her response. She had certainly never told him THAT before!

"Garrett, the nobles I rob gave me that name, alright?" The frustrated nymph informed. "And about this Asteriah lady, I already told you-I don't even know her."

"Well, she knows who you are Gwenevere! So look, if a blonde woman with blue eyes ever-"

"No Garrett, you look!" The nymph interrupted with a shrill cry, "I don't wanna talk to you about anything right now!"

"What?! Why the hell not?!"

"Because..." Gwenevere looked down at her boots, and frowned, "I'm still really upset with you. With what you did..."

"Gwenevere," the thief shivered as his voice gradually softened, "I did that in order to protect you."

"Garrett. I'm a nymph. I don't need your protection." Gwenevere retorted, matter-of-factly.

Garrett's brows furrowed, and what little patience had grown beneath his stoic glare, was consumed by an outburst of bitter frustration.

"Yes you do! I've lost count of how many times you blindly threw yourself at death! You nymphs are all like that; you, your mother-"

"-Don't you talk about her like that!" Gwenevere demanded, her eyes as wide and imposing as a pair of green flames.

But there was more anguish than anger in that stare. Much more. Garrett silently gasped. Out of agitation and uncertainty, the words had exited his lips before he had even processed them. And they were words, which he now deeply regretted.

"Wait, Gwenevere," he tried to start again, very calmly, "that's not what I-

"-You told me I was no thief, Garrett! I listened. Now, I've found my own path, and it's far more rewarding and beneficial to The City than anything you could possibly offer!"

There was a budding of raw maturity within her words; one that caused Garrett to become instantly alarmed. Gwenevere, had never spoken to him like this before, and what was worse...was that she clearly meant every world of it. It would be many months later before the reserved man would ever open his mind to the truth behind such a change. That his child-like sapling of an apprentice, was blooming into the sophisticated maturity of a grown nymph.

"You are a selfish, cruel man Garrett." Gwenevere hissed. "You take with no regard for anyone but yourself. Even if you did offer back my apprenticeship, I would never work with you again!" She concluded, turning away from him. The thief grabbed her arm.

"You don't get to decide that!" Garrett snarled, clutching her tightly. Behind that stony glare, his mind was now begging.

_Gwenevere, don't do this. Think this through, fool girl! Upstart brat! You're going to be the death of me!_

Gradually, sound began to pass through his dry lips again.

"Gwenevere, look at yourself. You're dressed even more foolishly than before. There is nothing to be earned from this insanity of yours."

The nymph dove her gaze into that of metal and feral moonlighter. The Master Thief, had gripped his prize-and he wouldn't let her go without a fight.

"We're going to help The City, Garrett. I don't need you to approve of this." She answered her former master, very calmly.

It was sometime around that moment of shocked stupor which rendered Garrett breathless, that Derick Garrision thundered into view. He violently shook the thief from his disbelieving state, firmly prying Garrett's long bony digits from Gwenevere's wrist.

"The young lady doesn't want to speak with you right now." The Hammerite shouted.

"Outta my way!" The thief growled, trying to push his way past the burly man. But Derick Garrison shoved him backwards. A brief look of rage grew prominent within his vulpine features, before Garrett acquired an annoyed scowl.

"Did you just_ push_ me?" He groused, almost amused in an bizarre sort of way.

"Be gone, criminal!" This time, the thief truly was infuriated.

"Shut it Hammer!" he snarled. "And get the hell outta my way!"

From behind the zealot, his leader called out.

"Hey Derick? Please don't hurt him, alright?" She peeped. A glint of hope caught the corner of Garrett's false eye.  
_  
Don't hurt him...so she does still care...  
_  
He once again attempted to break past the burly guard. Unfortunately, this second attempt was just as fruitless as the last.

"Goodbye Garrett." The nymph spoke in a mature, bittersweet tone. The thief's eyes went wide, and his breathing quickened.

He was helpless to watch as his ex apprentice gave him one last pain-stricken frown, and walked off into the tunnel depths. He had lost her, though the denial was strong.

"Gwenevere, get back here!" He hollered, sweating and furious. "GWENEVERE!"

***

Garrett grumbled to himself as he started away from the hideout, his boots squishing into the soppy mud.

_I'll be back Gwenevere. You can't hide forever. I'll steal you back.  
_  
From around the bend, the last voice on earth that the Master Thief wanted to hear at that moment rang through the darkness like a rusty bell.

"So, your sapling has decided to follow her own path, it would seem?"

Garrett whirled around, ready to strangle the smug half-smile off of that meddlesome Keeper's face. Keeper Mcclay blinked, tucking both hands into his airy sleeves.

"This is your doing, isn't it?!"

"If I am not mistaken, was it not you who sent young Gwenevere away?" The elder countered.

"I did that for her own good Mcclay!" The thief hollered angrily.

Mcclay signed hard, ruling that this particular line of dialogue was proving pointless.

"The girl called you her eternal mate. If she truly cares for you that much, why would you hurt her?"

Garrett felt instantly breathless. All feeling seemed to leave his body in that moment, as color and light were stripped from the world around him. He'd spent just enough time around the Pagans to know what those words roughly translated to for cityfools. Gwenevere had proclaimed-in front of Keeper Mcclay and gods knew who else-that she would remain at his side, forever. His metal eye fizzled as the crows feet that surrounding it expanded.

"She decided this?! Why?" Garrett demanded from Mcclay.

"Why do you think?"

"I know why, damn it!" The thief began to shuffle his boots, grasping the hilt of dagger for any sense of comfort and stability. Truth be told, he loved her that much too. But there was one thing he assumed his nymph had forgotten in her hasty whimsy:

Nymphs lived forever; and Garrett was a mortal man.

"But she knows I'll die!" The thief retorted, trying to rationalize any of this.

"Perhaps Gwenevere has already considered this. Perhaps she is not bothered by this."

"But why?" Garrett gawked at the Keeper, and he thought for just a brief moment Mcclay rolled his eyes.

"You know Garrett, the nymph is proving to be far more human that you are."

"Well then it looks like she finally got exactly what she always wanted, now doesn't it?" He sneered. "Her dream of being human."

"And what of your own dream, my boy? The dream which put you on this path away from Gwenevere in the first place."

The thief glared up at the tranquil Keeper with a look that would melt steel.

"I'm only gonna say this once, so you better listen. Stay out of my head, old man. Keep your magical thought reading tricks to yourself!"

"I only bring it up, because what you witnessed is not preventable Garrett."

That set him off. The thief's muscles grew taut and cold, his mouth went dry, and all moisture struggled to exit from behind unwilling eyes at this horrifying revelation.  
Gwenevere, was going to be skewered to death regardless? Was there truly nothing he could do?

"What do you mean?!" Garrett asked, trying to sound collected in front of Keeper Mcclay.

"Now, you must brace yourself for what I am about to tell you, young Garrett."

The elder examined the thief before him, seemingly trying to decipher if he was truly in any condition to be told such things. But this was Garrett's vision. He needed to understand it more than anyone-whatever the cost.

"The dream you observed...was a vision of the end. Not just Gwenevere's-but yours as well."

Garrett was flabbergasted. His eyebrows furrowed, thinking at first that Keeper Mcclay was merely trying to upset him.

"But only Gwenevere-"

"-It is unhealthy to dream of your own demise, dear boy. Surely you know that by now." Mcclay tried to sound comforting. "Listen to me, Garrett. Just because you did not witness it, does not necessarily mean that you survived."

"So you know how I'm gonna die then, eh?" Once again, the thief's attitude masked a much deeper emotion. "Typical Keeper. Even if I did believe that, why the hell should I trust you?"

"Garrett, you are mortal are you not?" The elder smirked sourly. "As for Gwenevere, you need to understand why she came to be in the first place. You see, Gwenevere was created to birth multitudes of new nymphs into existence. She is the last, as you have no doubt noticed. Which is why you cannot keep her, my boy. The forest needs a leader, and Gwenevere was their last hope."

"So you lied, when you said it wasn't her calling to rule. Tch, typical two-faced charlatan. What else have you been hiding, Mcclay?! Are you even a real Keeper?" Mcclay grew disturbingly stoic and cold.

"You saw the glyphs, Garrett. You know I am."

"Yeah, I saw the glyphs." The thief gave the elder a wicked glare, "why do you think I warned Gwenevere to stay away from you. That's not all I know-Vandolyn..."

A horrible sensation of shock enveloped the Keeper, and he felt as a dark ball of dread sank into his stomach. Mcclay stared at the thief with a regrettable, almost dazed look in his weathered eyes. Their usually gentle reassurance was all but diminished now-replaced by a look of complete guilt. And even more surprisingly, apprehension.

For all of his arrogance and the confidence he held in his own abilities, Garrett knew somewhere inside of himself, that he was powerless to stop Keeper Mcclay. Keeping Gwenevere away from him, had always been composed of more delusion that decision. An almost airtight ruse which suffocated the man into some sparse form of solace. But the harsh reality was clear: If Keeper Mcclay had wished either of them harm, there would have been little even a Master Thief could do to stop it.  
The elder's lips creaked open, and a dusty creak passed through.

"Then this was before...the destruction of the Final Glyph..." The Keeper took a nauseated step backward, wiping some frigid sweat away from his wrinkled brow. "Did Artemus show you then?"

"Yeah, he showed me. He was trying to help me-that's one of the things that set him apart from the rest of you Keepers. Of course, then your old buddy slaughtered him."

"Watch your tongue, thief!" Keeper Mcclay demanded. The usually tranquil tenor to his voice had been replaced by a fearsome snarl.

"Gamall was no friend of mine, Garrett! Least so, after what she did in the end. I still pine for Artemus every day. He was my apprentice-and he was like a son to me..."

"I didn't come here for a lecture about your mistakes,_ or_ your freakishly-long lifespan. I came to finish this. I warned you to keep away from Gwenevere-but you just couldn't listen."

"Garrett. Believe what you may, but the facts remain the same. Gwenevere, was never yours to keep. Sooner or later, she will leave you. This is what was written, and this is what will happen. Regardless of the love you feel for that girl."

"So what does that mean? Is she gonna die then? Like in my dream?"

"Not necessarily. But she was always destined to branch off from your side, Garrett. Surely you must know this by now. You have been exceedingly selfish, Master Thief. After all, you are not the only one who needs her."

"You're wrong. I can change your prophecy, just like I did with the clocktower years ago." Garrett deflected the elder's observant comment with his usual mixture of arrogant confidence.

"I'm afraid this is not the same-"

"-I. Can. Stop. This." Garrett hissed, staring into Mcclay's immortal eyes. Before the Ancient Keeper could offer further council, the moonlighter fled.

Keeper Mcclay stared into the gloomy shadows where the conflicted man had once stood. Gwenevere's choice was already beginning to extract a toll on the thief, and it was far greater than expected.

"Mmm, perhaps there is a twist here too. Perhaps the nymph can leave his side, yet still remain."


	68. Chapter 68

**KEEPER MCCLAY'S HIDEOUT  
8 WEEKS AGO:**

She was broken, shattered like a tree ravaged by lightning. A rush of raw pain seared down Gwenevere's spine, as Sophie revelation continued to reverberate within the torrent that was her mind.

_Garrett is missing. Garrett is missing. Garrett is missing.  
_  
The others had been so comforting when she told them the news. Ayeena and Nellarose had held the sobbing nymph after she collapsed onto the bed. Keeper Mcclay and his loyal devotees had watched in silent concern, though it was truly the Enforcer who had remained the most stoic. Tobias had been at a loss for words, as had the recently returned Hammerite Derick Garrison. Neither had known the thief, but both realized the grave impact that his loss warranted.

Erin had split-torn off down the winding tunnel before any of the others could even think to stop her. Nellarose had at least taken notice, but in that terrible moment she had been too paralyzed to even breathe properly. It was some twenty minutes later, that the Grower realized that she wasn't coming back. Nellarose had gone after Erin, and eventually the others returned to their various tasks around the hideout. But even long after they had gone, Ayeena continued to sit up at Gwenevere's side, silently offering comfort by rubbing her forlorn friend's shuddering back.

"It's all my fault. He's dead because I wounded him-I just know it!" Gwenevere whimpered, sap oozing from her eyes. She gurgled and hissed like an injured animal in between bouts of violent sobbing. Ayeena tried to smile, but it was nothing short of difficult.

"Hush Woodsie Child," she crooned. "Bes your sneaksie so weak?" Gwenevere looked up and batted her flustered eyelids.

"Huh? Weak? Nono! Garrett's one of the toughest humans I've ever met!" She countered, that fierce spark of loyalty and eagerness to please and defend her master not so easily diminished. The blonde Pagan grinned wolfishly at these words.

"If sneaksie bes so powerful, then sneaksie woulds bes harders to deadings, yeah?"

Gwenevere's eyes grew large, a luster of golden forests present within them for the first time in weeks.

"Yeah! Oh Ayeena!" she sniffed. "You're absolutely right! Garrett's tackled much worse than any of that! He's gotta be okay."

"Bes not goes losings hope. Hope bes precious, Woodsie One."

"I-I know," Gwenevere nodded as she began stroking Pilfur, who had found his way into her lap. "But it's not always an easy thing to have."

Ayeena's smile softened into a kinder visage, as she thought long and hard about whether to speak her next words. Should she even _try_ to offer such a bold suggestion when her friend was hurting so badly?

"Whens you feelers that way, sometimes it bes best to helpers those who cannot bes helpers themselves. Those who cannot even bes feels hopeless, because theys bes not knowers what hope is."

"Those who have never known hope?! W-where are these poor people?" Gwenevere gawked at her long-lost friend, a genuine concern warbling in her voice.

"Bes the Pagans-and bes the Growers. The folksies of the forests, young seed. We needers you to return to us." Ayeena pleaded through solemn hazel eyes.

Now Gwenevere was starting to grow upset again. Not from fear or sadness over where her Garrett was, or if he was even alive. Ayeena's words had been a powerful reassurance-Garrett was strong. He was going to return to The City one day. Return to her. It was in that most dreary of moments deep in the cavern's bowels, that the last nymph on earth, learned what faith truly was. It didn't come from pretty words, nor was it locked away within the cloven hooves of a defeated liar. Her mother hadn't supplied it either. Faith, at least for Gwenevere-came from within. The way she saw the world through absorbent eyes and trembling heart shaped her beliefs-her very soul.

What had Gwenevere so unnerved, was the notion of helping the Growers again. The last time, they had tricked her. Their puny leader Dawson had coerced her into accepting an unwanted visage and destiny onto her shoulders. He had tried to seduce her at one point, and even attacked her thief. Gwenevere locked eyes with Ayeena, her expression one of great discomfort.

"I don't wanna ever see Dawson again. I know most of the Growers mean well, but that guy..."

Ayeena blinked, almost appearing stunned for a moment at such talk. While it was indeed true that the Grower leader was young, inexperienced-and yes-he had committed more than his fair share of thoughtless deeds. But the Pagan also knew that the past should never act as a constant means of judgement, if the accused was truthfully trying to change what they had done therein. And Dawson was.

"Dawson bes changers, Gwenevere. He bes changers." She reassured. Gwenevere huffed.

"Ayeena. He left all of those poor people to die that night! Weren't you there? Don't you remember?!"

"I bes there, yes. I bes forgivers Dawson for his mistake, and so should yous!"

Those words fused and bubbled with the still scorching emotional torture inflicted by Garrett's cold dismissal, and the terror that his unknown whereabouts brought. It was just about all the ailing nymph could stand for one evening. Abruptly, Gwenevere lashed out.

"Why should I?!" she snarled like a hungry wolverine. "So many good-hearted humans and animals died due to his retraction-including the Temple Keeper! He was all I had left Ayeena, he guarded me when mother couldn't-and after...after..." She gasped abruptly, the memory of Lotus sending a reverberating pain through her body.

Ayeena noticed her suffering, and immediately regretted her offer. It was still far too soon.

"Gwenevere, I bes sorry I broughters it up," the Pagan began. "But about Dawson...he bes no older than myself. It bes harders for him. He bes takers over thems clan after his father bes passing away. Dawson bes a goodsie one though, Gwenevere. He makers mistakes, yes. But he bes always correcters them. Learners from them."

Gwenevere pondered those words for quite some time, retracing each of them within her mind as if they were ancient letters in dire need of translation.

_Learn from your mistakes._ That advice had been a near-constant during her training with Garrett.

Failure was not necessarily a bad thing, so long as it didn't threaten your life or those around you. Gwenevere too, had been learning from her own mistakes-and beside the girl she had been on her first evening in the slums, she was almost unrecognizable because of that. Faster, far more agile. Wiser.

"I guess I could accept that," she murmured, stroking Pilfur beneath his chin. "If he's trying to change. If he really wants to become a good leader to the Growers."

"He does! But it bes too much."

"What do you mean Ayeena?" Gwenevere questioned.

"Thems Hammerheads came. They burners our forests, and attackers us for no reason!"

Gwenevere's expression exploded into bitter rage. She clenched the bedsheets tightly in her fury, feeling as her nails grew longer and pierced the worn cotton.

"That's disgusting!" She sneered, positively mortified.

"Yes. Bes whysie I bes captured. I bes fighters thems leader."

"You...engaged their leader Ayeena?" Gwenevere sat mystified by her old friend's pure bravery.

"I bes had to trysies," the Pagan stared numbly down at her disfigured legs, and lightly touched the long scar running across her face. "I bes had to trysies."

"They had no right..." Gwenevere's voice cracked as she spoke, and the nymph wrapped her arms around her friend. "I do want to help you Ayeena. I want to help the Pagans and the Growers too, but I don't know how. I don't trust Dawson yet, so what can I do until then?"

Ayeena looked up at her bleary-eyed. She began to think. Suddenly, she broke out with, "sneaksies!" Gwenevere cocked her head.

"Huh?"

"Yous couldsie use thems sneaksie skills with what still is of yous magics! Thems skills coulds helpsies peoples! Thems Pagans, Thems Growers. Even thems cityfools you carers for!" Ayeena gasped as she came to the realization. "I bes teachers you how to users thems dagger! I bes helpers yous become a true Pagan hero, Gwenevere!"

Gwenevere was at a loss for how to respond to all of this. A hero? It sounded so fanciful and impossible to her-and yet, there was undeniably something extremely attractive to the prospect.

***

That evening, Gwenevere continued assisting Keeper Mcclay in his study. The air seemed musty inside his area-even more so than the surrounding catacombs. A constant drip was heard from somewhere as the two proceeded to get to work. Side by side, nymph and Keeper worked long into the night, struggling to decode even the most basic of lost Pagan tongue.

"This is a cypress tree," Gwenevere pointed to a peculiar etching of a black tree. "I think the cypress symbolizes death, and the eternal paradise of The Green thereafter."

"So my initial assumptions are proven correct." Mcclay muttered, hastily taking several notes.

"Although, the black coloration means suffering of some sort," the young woman unexpectantly continued. Mcclay lazily began to observe her though his peripheral vision, wondering just what she was thinking.

"Mm-hmm..." he noted. "And what is the significance of the color?"

"Well, you see-there are nine major colors in ancient Pagan symbolism. Gold, silver, red, blue, purple, white, brown, black, and of course green." She summarized. "Each color holds it's own special meaning in correlation to the symbol it represents."

"What does black mean?"

"Well, that's the problem I'm having," the little nymph frowned. "We know that the cypress tree means death and eternal bliss, but black...black means constant grief. How could eternal bliss even be associated with that?"

"Perhaps constancy is the more truthful interpretation?" Mcclay offered. Gwenevere shook her head.

"No, Pagan text is incredibly precise. You can't tilt your head one way and get a different meaning."

"I see..." The elder pondered. "Well, perhaps it refers to the constant grief over those who have died."

Gwenevere perked up at this.

"Ahh! Of course!" she skimmed down the page, taking in some more of her lost history. "Here! This is a red moon! It means war martyr-there was a war Keyper Mcclay!" She was practically bouncing in her chair with sheer excitement.

"That would make sense, since these books were found near one of the many impact sites of the cataclysm."

"Ooh!" The young woman seemed enchanted. "Yes! Mother used to speak of that time most fondly. She said we needed to remember what happened."

"Understandable. Many good souls were lost during the madness."

"Yes...she told me that's where her sisters died." Gwenevere frowned. "It must have been awful for her-loosing all of them at once like that."

The Keeper said nothing, knowing that there were no words quite adequate to mend Gwenevere's suffering. Then he noticed the Memory Keeper still hanging around her neck. It was quite clunky to be worn as a necklace, but Gwenevere didn't seem to mind.

"I never finished telling you about the roots of your object, now did I?" Mcclay pointed to the relic, causing Gwenevere to look up at him.

"No sir, you didn't."

"Well, as you are certainly aware, your mother once kept this object. It slipped out of her possession and became lost during the Mechanist attacks and genocide. Years later, headstrong adventurers and raiders traversed the abandoned Pagan village and re-discovered it. The artifact changed hands many times, before finally coming into Lord Bafford's possession-where of course, it was eventually snatched up by the greedy fingers of a curious servant's daughter."

"Servant's daughter?"

"I believe you know her as Erin." Mcclay smiled, his brown eyes glistening with warmth.

"Oh! I see! That makes so much sense!" Gwenevere gave a happy nod.

"Young Gwenevere. It has come to my attention over the last two weeks, that you are quite adept at interpretation. Would you possibly consider becoming an official Keeper interpreter one day?"

The little nymph seemed intrigued, but also very confused. She did not think anyone could just become a Keeper; certainly not someone as childish and clumsy as herself. They seemed to be a very restricted, disciplined group.

"I would love to continue helping you, Keyper Mcclay. This work is fascinating and so fun. I never expected to be granted such a wonderful opportunity to re-discover my heritage like this. But..." she bit her bottom lip, watching the elder with her huge celadon eyes.

"But what, child? Whatever is the matter?"

"But, what exactly does an interpreter do anyway?" She asked.

"Prophecies are central to the Keepers' work, so they play a very important role in our organization. Your job would be to read into and discover rare knowledge and information for Keepers everywhere."

"For Keypers everywhere..."

Gwenevere marveled. She had to admit, the offer sounded very tempting. The nymph had a strong amount of respect and fascination for both Keeper Mcclay and his organization, which in his words, "was still struggling to rebuild and to grow". She would absolutely cherish being involved in something so important as that.

"Yes my dear," Mcclay continued. "Right now, I regard you as my translator Gwenevere. Translators aid in revealing prophecies and texts for the interpreter; and in time, they can even succeed the interpreter."

"Wow..." was all the dazed girl could manage. "That sounds too good to be true!"

Without the slightest of warnings, Keeper Mcclay suddenly grew very serious.

"And I'm sure some would argue that it is, my dear. You see, glyph interpreting ages those who partake in it very rapidly. It is the inevitable effect which comes from taking in too much knowledge and power."

"That...doesn't sound good." Gwenevere gulped, starting to imagine her body growing old and frail.

It was difficult, not out of any sort of vanity-but rather because nymphs did not outwardly age. They grew only in power and spirit, and they could never die due to old age. Her mother had been well past her thousandth year when she had chosen to engage Karras and his mechanized wolves. Sometimes, Gwenevere truly wondered if she had simply grown tired of the world, wherein a violent death was her only escape. If so, then perhaps this explained why Viktoria had met her demise with such fearless fervor.

"It would not be the same for a nymph. Since you can neither grow old, nor die of time. Becoming an interpreter would instead greatly mature you. It would grant you wisdom, and teach you the prudence and tranquility of a high nymph."

Gwenevere was still unsure about all of this. She wanted to be useful to Mcclay and the remaining Keepers, but unnaturally gaining knowledge and power seemed wrong to her.

"Can I think about it first?" She pleaded. The Keeper nodded once.

"Of course. I never meant to cause you distress. Take all the time you need to weigh your options."

"I will Keyper, thank you. I want to help any way that I possibly can. That's partly why I've decided to start my own Merry Gang!"

"Beg pardon?"

"You know? Like Robber Hood! Ayeena helped me with the idea. I'm gonna combine my knowledge with those who will join me. I'm finally gonna be able to help The City!"

Keeper Mcclay watched her, half proud, and half concerned. It was indeed an admirable goal, but it was how she would choose to go about it which would cement his thoughts on the matter. He had foreseen Gwenevere's desire to form a vigilante group. This was why he had been watching her since Nethalzia-to make absolutely certain that the last remaining nymph had pure intentions. To make sure that she had not been corrupted or swayed by her bloodlines.

One of Interpreter Caduca's last prophecies-the one which had curdled Mcclay's blood-had spoken loosely of a certain god spawn that would bring chaos and destruction in place of their defeated parent. For the longest of years, Keeper Mcclay had feared Gwenevere's true intentions. But in a double-edged twist of fate, it had been revealed that she was not the one of which prophecy had warned. The most terrifying had occurred. There was another spawn of the Trickster on the loose.


	69. Chapter 69

**THE CITY STREETS  
PRESENT DAY:**

By the time Garrett had returned to town, he was positively soaking with rain. His worn face was sweltering, making it impossible to distinguish sweat and water from the few persistent tears of rage which had managed to leave his stern gaze. Why hadn't Gwenevere listened to him? She had always done so in the past. She seemed to have forgotten everything about him and his training. Garrett had already reached the conclusion that Keeper Mcclay was somehow involved-that was almost too obvious for him. But some of what she had said-mainly the part about him being selfish and cruel-for some reason, those words were the ones that bothered him the most.

Garrett had no delusions pertaining to his true nature. The thief knew who he was-what he was. What troubled him so, was the fact that Gwenevere did too. Prior to that evening, the nymph had accepted him-flaws and all. What had changed? The thief felt as his lips spread wide into a tight grimace. Perhaps the more important question, was why. Why had her feelings and impressions for the fleet-footed criminal changed so drastically in such a short window of time? What exactly was going on within that ruby-haired nymph's blissfully intertwined thoughts?

Sometimes, Garrett would give anything just to know. This, was one of those times.

***

After braving the accursed humid downpour and steamy factory streets for nearly an hour, Garrett finally managed to reach Sophie's safehouse. A part of Garrett wondered why he'd chosen to come to anyone after what had just transpired. Usually, the loner would recede into the hidden crevaces of that stony city, locked within his own mind so deeply, that even if he could be found-none at all would be able to reach for him. After all, that was how he'd chosen to handle the previous losses within his life. Recoiling into that personal dungeon of woe and denial where no further despair could befall him.

But something about Gwenevere's departure seemed daunting and unique. She hadn't died, nor had she left his side for another man or another city. His ex-apprentice was still his, and Garrett knew that. He'd seen the love in her eyes, even as those venomous words had bitterly exited her mouth but hours before. He knew the girl still loved him-and thus, Gwenevere, was in many respects the same. But she was still changing, and that had him worried.

The thief approached Sophie's doorway with a hesitant scowl. He knew what her reaction would be, and the nasty accusations she would almost certainly hurl his way. But Garrett had no other option at that moment. He was still upset at Basso, and he planned on staying that way at least until the boxman coughed up his share of the profits. His arm felt incredibly heavy as he went to bray on the door.

To his surprise, Sophie was still dressed and generally kept at this hour. Garrett half expected to be greeted by the middle aged pauper in her pink bathrobe and curlers. What wasn't surprising in the slightest, was the visceral look of hate burning within her blue-grey glare. Not wishing to draw attention to himself by letting one of Sophie's infernal scolding wake the entire block, the thief spoke first.

"Look Sophie. I know you're angry, and you have every right to be," that last part, felt incredibly forced.

But Garrett knew that Sophie no doubt had already received Gwenevere's side of things. It was only fair that he got a chance to at least explain. The thief knew she'd be more likely to let him in and listen, if he at least pretended to accept the blame. It seemed to work.

"Damn right I do!" Sophie began to chastise him, causing the thief to cringe.

"Sophie, keep your voice down," he hissed through clenched teeth, desperately motioning his hands downward. Sophie, became furious at this.

"Keep my-how dare you! You barge into MY house, and then you tell ME to-"

"-I need to explain what happened. This is extremely important," the thief quickly cut her short.

He tried to remain collected, but it was difficult when the older woman was borderline hysterical. Even more so when the arrogant man was forced to gulp down even a fraction of his pride.

"Why should I?" Sophie crossed her arms, her body positively emanating maternal rage. But she had at least leveled her tone.

Garrett chewed his cheek for a moment, all the while never letting his steel and coffee brown gaze leave hers. He desperately hoped she'd keep quiet. The watch was patrolling mere blocks from where he was standing after all. A part of him warned that in her current mood, Sophie was liable to give him up to them. But the realist in Garrett prevailed. He'd known her too long-and he knew Sophie would never do anything like that-spitting hot coals or not.

Aside from Basso, Garrett had known Sophie longer than anyone else during his second attempt at city life after storming out of the Keeper Compound. He'd run across the troublesome siblings shortly after leaving the order whist trying to pawn off some pilfered wares at a now burned down tavern just south of Old Quarter. Living as an acolyte in a world of tight-lipped recluses hadn't granted the young man all too many street smarts. Garrett had learned to survive the streets as a gutter snipe, but as he had begun to realize, the older a scoundrel got, the more tricks and information he required to survive.

Aside from his initial skills of picking pockets and sneaking up on mysterious robed men, Garrett was all-too ill prepared for life in the big city as an adult. Basso, was another story entirely. Twenty years more foolish, and still with a full head of chestnut brown hair, the boxman had just smiled at him from across the bar.

_"I can help you find a buyer,"_ was all he'd initially said.

Garrett of course, was forever the skeptic, leaving the tavern with a forgotten quip about drunks, and a whip of his new cloak. When the weeks passed, and still nary a buyer had been located, the neophyte moonlighter had returned to said drunk, his tail discreetly tucked between his legs. He had worried about whether the friendly man would still be there. Or if he was, the young ne'er-do-well worried about whether or not he'd still be so forthcoming. Garrett _had_ insulted him, after all.  
_  
"I'll let it slide taffer...if you buy me a pint."_ Basso had grinned warmly, a gesture which young Garrett wasn't all too familiar with. Wanderlust in his dark eyes, he had replied with, _"how about I just swipe you one from the counter instead?"  
_  
The two men had been friends ever since.

His connection with Sophie, was far less straightforward. Upon first introductions, he found her positively gorgeous. She had awed him in every aspect of her vibrant design. Never in his life, had Garrett wanted to gain someone's attentions and praises more than he did hers-and he eventually had. But what kept him coming back to her, even years after the thief had initially made a mess of everything he'd worked so hard to acquire-was that simple spark which had ignited within their friendship. Even now, Garrett trusted Sophie. He knew there was one way to tell her this-one phrase decided upon long ago. This code of theirs, would ensure that she _had_ to help him.

"You're all I've got right now, Sophie. Basso and I aren't on speaking terms, I don't know where Erin is, and Gwenevere-" he squinted his eyes tightly, as the phrase in question left his numb lips, "-You're the only one I can talk to right now. I need you to listen."

Sophie's jaw dropped, his plea seemingly coming from nowhere. She was almost appalled that Garrett would use his one free pass on this-when he was clearly in the wrong, and she was obviously furious with him. Sophie was in no mindset to aid him, and she made it apparent. But the thief had asked, all the same. He'd been there years ago when the boxman's sister had used _her_ free pass to get Garrett to help with an incredibly difficult loss. Now, it was her turn to help him.

"Fine. Come in, but make it fast," she opened the door wider, and motioned him inside. "I'm really, _really_ angry right now."

***

Once inside her apartment, Garrett let an exasperated sigh leave his body. Sophie leered at him as she gathered some stray dishes from the coffee table, and made her way into the kitchen. It was clear that she'd had a guest over earlier in the day for tea. Garrett huffed, shuffling his damp boots against the carpet.  
When Sophie returned, she had a bottle of wine in one hand, and a glass vial of something unseen in the other. The thief gave her an odd, almost insulted look.

"What's that for?"

"Your arm," Sophie pointed. "Something bit you, and from the looks of it, you haven't treated the injury at all yet."

Garrett sighed, far too tired to resist her hospitality at the moment. He'd just lost Gwenevere-he frankly wasn't in the mood for much of anything. Instead, he sank almost lifelessly into one of her chairs, propping up his elbow on the armrest. He leaned his face into his hand, and scowled.

"And the wine?" he asked, more out of boredom than actual interest. Sophie actually began to smile.

"It's your favorite. I had someone over for dinner last night, and I may have purchased a little too much."

Garrett sat down with another huff, aware that it was their pact years ago which kept her from blowing up in his face. At least until he'd finished telling her what was bothering him so.

"I don't want it," Garrett mumbled, his cheek tucked firmly within his gloved hand. "And I think we both know why you're suddenly being nice to me Sophie."

"It was part of our deal years ago," she snorted, allowing her true feelings to show for just a moment. Sophie pointed at his arm guards, which the thief promptly untied and slid off. He cringed as he realized that Gwenevere's bite had gone deeper than expected.

"I don't want you to do me any special favors. I don't need you to be kind to me out of principle, _or_ this silly deal. Just hear me out." Garrett ordered.

"Fine, suits me," Sophie grinned with a sarcasm which did little to hide her internal discontent. She moved to where Garrett was resting, and poured a generous helping of alcohol from the phile onto his injury, causing the thief to sputter with pain. "Whoops..."

The thief sneered up at her, snatching the wine bottle from her 'clumsy' hands.

"Well, if you're gonna be nasty about it..." he sneered before taking a hearty swig from the bottle, "...don't mind if I do."

Sophie went to work dabbing and cleaning the bite wound, all the while remaining silent and cold. Garrett continued to drink from the bottle-half out of thirst, and half out of efforts to deaden the pain.

"I suppose you're upset because you assume I've gone and left Gwenevere, huh?" the thief finally accused, once the effects began to work their magic. Sophie stared at him, temporarily ceasing her treatment.

"You mean you _haven't_?"

"Gotta stop jumping to such harsh conclusions Sophie. It'll make you more like Basso." Garrett actually grinned, starting to become inebriated. He'd been downing the bottle at an alarming rate.

"Okay, wise guy," Sophie crossed her arms, "then why did she show up here in tears-and why did she say she needed to get away from you?!"

"I told her that she couldn't be my apprentice anymore. I told her that she was gonna get herself killed. She took it really badly." Garrett held up the angry bite wound to Sophie's face. She gasped, cupping a hand to her quivering lips.

"G-Gwenevere did this?! But..."

"Like I said, she didn't take it so well..." The thief gulped down some more wine.

Sophie continued to gawk at the bestial teethmarks emblazoned across Garrett's arm, almost unwilling to believe that sweet little Gwenevere could have inflicted such terrifying wounds. But she also knew how much the thief's training meant to the nymph. Sophie could only imagine how hurt and shocked her adopted daughter must have felt at that moment! It all made sense now.

"You _dismissed_ her?! Garrett, why would you do that?!" Sophie was flabbergasted.

"Thought you wanted it this way Sophie." Garrett grunted, now fully inebriated.

"I _wanted_ Gwenevere to find her own path-not allow you to constantly make decisions for her."

"Tch, picky as always..." the thief groused. "I never get what I want Sophie. I never have. I wanted Gwenevere to stay where it was safe-and now she's out there with the seeds; gallivanting off with Mcclay, some Hammer, and taff knows who else."

"Well, if that's what she wants..." Sophie tried not to sound cold. Being Basso's sister, she had learned long ago that trying to argue with a drunk was futile, but this was an opinion that desperately needed to make itself heard.

"You know the funny thing about this whole mess?" The thief began again, his smoky tone starting to slur, drawing out every syllable.

"No, what's so 'funny' about this Garrett?"

"I refused to teach that girl, in order to keep her safe. I have to." Garrett's face suddenly grew dark; so empty in fact, that it caused Sophie to cringe. "But she didn't believe me when I told her. Gwenevere doesn't even trust me anymore..."

Immediately, all ill-will she harbored towards the thief diminished into a very true concern. Garrett was acting...strange. Uncharacteristically emotional.

"Garrett? You gonna be okay hun?" Sophie asked, loosely touching his shoulder.

The thief did not pull back as he normally would have. More alarming, he barely seemed to notice it. Taking the opportunity, Sophie attempted to help her soaking friend out of his cloak and hood. To her surprise, Garrett shrugged them off with little effort. His messy, sweat-covered hair now clearly visible, the thief shook his head with a bittersweet expression.

"Everyone kept telling me that I couldn't keep Gwenevere. That she would be forced from my side one day. I guess I figured that if I kept that taffing girl close, then that couldn't happen. How bloody wrong I was..." He tried to chuckle bitterly, but his throat was far too dry despite the abundance of alcohol. "And now she hates me."

"Gwenevere could _never_ hate you, Garrett." The older woman offered, putting down her wash rag. But the thief wasn't listening to her. He was staring into the soot-covered blackness of her barren fireplace, completely lost.

"Her Mother. I couldn't save her mother. I may be the world's greatest thief, but I'm useless as a man, if I can't keep someone I care about from slipping through my fingers."

"Garrett, that's not true in the least!"

Sophie was yelling at him now, trying to mask the abject horror his latest statement had brought. Garrett was, to put it gently, a bit different from other men. But if he really believed what he had just said, than perhaps that wasn't putting it strongly enough. Garrett was silent for several moments, the tip of his nose starting to turn a soft red from inebriation.

"I'm a thief, Sophie. It's all I've ever known; and I don't know how to be anything else. I think, maybe Gwenevere knows that now." He began, still staring at the nothingness of Sophie's bedroom wall. The little painted roses seemed to be mocking him; their petals were within reach, yet they were impossible to truly touch.

Truly feel.

As a thief, Garrett had discovered much more than just gems and baubles during his countless raids. He had also discovered secrets. These putrid and downright heinous blemishes others kept behind locked doors, were partly what kept him as far away as possible from most people. But not from Sophie. Never from her.  
Despite the constant bickering and tension he experienced whilst around his best friend's younger sister, Garrett had always felt a unique connection with her. As if she truly were a living vault where only the thief's most precious information could remain safe. Deep down, Garrett knew that she understood his complexity unlike any other.

There was a certain magic there between them, hidden away behind cruel words and gnashing teeth like a clever disguise. But it was still there all the same.

"I almost did it before, you know..."

"What? Fret over Gwenvere?" Sophie chortled with a shake of her head. Completely unprepared for Garrett's next statement.

"Became a father." Sophie's eyes went wide, her face contorting in complete shock.

"W-what?! Garrett, when was this?!" She demanded.

"A long time ago. Back when I still had both of my eyes," Garrett slurred, the sound bearing just a modicum of dismal laughter. "Funny thing was, that I thought I loved her. Back when I was young, and stupid-and love actually still made sense to me."

"Garrett..."

"It wasn't intended, mind you. She started out being my childhood rival, then she became my best friend. And then..." the thief grinned, both nostalgic and extremely remorseful.

Sophie couldn't help but crack a smile herself. It was rare to hear Garrett speak of his past like this; and it had been years since he'd opened up to her at all. Before she realized it, the thief had already continued his tale.

"She was just as stupid as I was-falling for a scamp like me. Running after me when I left the Keepers. Unlike my sorry, 'unbalanced' ass, they had big plans for her."

"Such as?" Sophie encouraged, as she finished bandaging Garrett's injury. The thief shot her a bothered glance, his flesh eye becoming lucid with intoxication.

"They were gonna make her a Scribe. She was only eighteen. Had she accepted, she would have been the youngest in recorded Keeper history. Celebrated for her rare gifts. She threw everything away, just to be at my side," he hesitated before downing the last of the bottle. "Belligerent, free-spirited woman..."

"Perhaps it was because she really loved you." Sophie smiled.

"Or perhaps it was because I knocked her up."

The words fell from his lips like an avalanche. The underworld matriarch's eyes bore deeply into him, and she nearly choked at the sheer weight those words had caused her body to endure.

"Is...is that what you meant?! Garrett...are-are you trying to tell me...that you have a child out there?!" She sputtered.

"No."

"What do you mean no?!" Sophie was growing upset again. "Garrett, regardless of your current life or relationship, if you left some woman alone to raise your offspring-"

"-She passed away, Sophie," he intercepted her lecture bitterly, "they _both_, passed away."

"Oh..." was all the stunned woman could respond with.

A stab of harsh guilt perforated her being as Sophie finally began to realize her horrible mistake. For years now, she'd been acting as a mother to all the members of her tightly-knit crime brood. It was what she was best at-and by an ironic twist in Garrett's case-worst at. It wasn't that the thief didn't need to be cared for-everyone did in her opinion. But the way she always assumed the worst from his actions and intentions; that was wrong.

Sophie barely felt as her face grew moist with tears. The man before her might not have been the most honor-bound or selfless man. But for those few folks whom Garrett had forged a connection with, he was always reliable. Always true. He had come through for her poor brother on more than one occasion-even going to great lengths to secure a pair of wedding rings of Basso and Jenivere. He had spared Erin from his own personal fate as a street waif, and as much as Sophie neglected to remember it, Garrett had been there for her as well.

The boxman's sibling wiped her eyes, and gave a silent, accepting nod. Gwenevere was no exception. Garrett cared deeply for her-no longer would Sophie deny that. She listened intently as the thief began to speak again. His voice was incredibly slurred now, and Garrett drunk was a sight which Sophie wasn't entirely used to witnessing.

"You know, Gwenevere once asked about her; more or less. I told her a straight-up lie about Clairissa. I said she meant nothing to me-that I didn't love her in the slightest. I had to," the thief's forlorn eyes gave way to indescribable grief. "But yeah, they killed her. She was three months pregnant."

"Who would do such a thing?!" Sophie whispered, her tone watery with tears of disgust.

"The Enforcers. They were looking for us. Me, specifically. I left that woman alone for maybe an hour-but that was more than time enough. To think that they were going to make me-into one of _those_..." he stopped abruptly, then looked up at Sophie wide-eyed.

"Garrett..." she started. Tears were now streaming down her face, and she made no attempt to hide them.

This man-despite their complicated and often rocky relationship-was still one of her closest and dearest friends. To learn of his past like this-to view such real suffering upon his face. To hear that Garrett had lost more than most would ever understand. It was almost too much.

"Maybe it's for the best; this madness of Gwenevere going off on her own. I don't think I could live through something like that ever again."

Sophie took up both of his shaking, now useless hands. Now fully within the alcohol's grasp, Garrett allowed this, still staring at her with that uncomfortably boyish look in his eyes.

"Garrett, you aren't about to lose her." Sophie proclaimed, as bold and as determined as she had been to strangle him earlier that evening. The thief's lips parted, his bottom row of teeth barely visible past them.

"What makes you so sure?"

"Because," Sophie leaned forward and hugged him tightly. "I promise you that I _won't_ let that happen, my dear friend."

Garrett remained limp in her embrace. And outside-despite it being late Summer-the rain grew frigid as ice.


	70. Chapter 70

It was the last likely place a vigilante would have been expected to strike. After all, most crusaders of the night didn't stalk sweet shops. But this one, did. Gwenevere clung the delicate caramel-colored shingles of the Old Quarter bakery, every skill her old master had instilled within her mustered up for this most important of tasks.

Shielded by the shadows of a well-placed street sign, she went to work. Her lockpicks raked and popped each of the front door's pins firmly in place-the promise of something sweet touching her famished tongue almost too much. Garrett had always maintained his strict rules about her consumption of sugar; knowing full well just what effect it had on whimsical wood nymphs.

But Gwenevere had no such concerns of obnoxiously misplaced behavior, nor of causing a full-on rumpus. She enjoyed the rush the sweet crystals gave her; how they filled her with an energy reminiscent of a naked dash through the forest at night. Adrenaline and sheer glee collided into a powerful synergy, enrapturing the little creature's every sensation in pure bliss.

The nymph had always been complacent with her stern thief and his demands. But with the anger his departure now brought, she was in no mood to deny herself such pleasures. A sparkle of mischief intertwined itself around her green and gold irises like a ring of miniature stars. The forest nymph was very hungry indeed, and he wasn't there to tell her no.

At last, the lock begrudgingly clicked open, and Gwenevere gained her most coveted entrance into the bakery. It was dark within, the outlines of several lovely cakes protected by glass covers greeted the nymph as she started inside. There was of course, a cash register too-but Gwenevere wasn't interested in money tonight. The aroma of those forbidden treats was now beckoning to her, and she needed to consume them all!

She started with the most attractive cake she could find-a layered wedding cake with tiny red roses iced with precision and care around the rim. Gwenevere had no idea what a wedding cake was-she'd never even heard of a wedding for that matter. But the cake itself, looked spectacular. Too delicious not to start her evening with.  
Without any flair, she bit directly into the side of the cake. Icing smeared her cheeks and the tip of her nose in the process of her brutal attack, but Gwenevere was far from concerned. The sweet butter flavor, combined with a slightly tangy lemon icing was causing her primitive woodland senses to jolt into overdrive. Using her tongue, she licked up one of the iced roses, a bit disappointed that they did not share the same flavor as actual flowers. But they were tasty, nonetheless.

Next, the nymph investigated a row of cookies on display behind the counter. They were dainty little things, each only about an inch in circumference. A dab of cherry preserves had been discreetly tucked into an indent within each of the circular goods, and their crumbly edges were dusted with sugar. Gwenevere gave a wide grin, and wasted no time in filling her mouth with cookies. She resembled a squirrel with its cheeks packed full of nuts by the end of it.

Still far from satisfied, the nymph began to search around the small room for something truly sensational. Something that she'd never tasted before. It didn't take too long before she came across a display of brightly-colored boxes towards the front of the bakery. Each was tied lovingly in a bright red bow, which caused Gwenevere to smile. Presents perhaps?

The girl loved presents, so she was immediately drawn in by the attractive packaging. Even if what was inside wasn't edible, Gwenevere's curiosity demanded to be sated. Fortunately for her, there _was_ food inside. A special, magical sort of delicacy that was destined to change her life forever.

At first, the little nymph made a confused face. Inside the box-packed tightly within gold foil-were about sixteen small brown mounds. They were shiny, as if polished. Gwenevere was beginning to wonder if she could eat such strange trinkets? Maybe they were gifts-baubles meant to entice potential lovers. Humans did have such a cute tradition of attracting mates with pressies, after all.

They did at least smell enticing. Gwenevere thought it over for a few minutes-which was extremely difficult, given her mounting sugar rush. She wanted to clamber up to the roof of the bakery and sing-or twirl naked through the vacated city streets. Run with the wolves, and howl at the glorious full moon overhead. Sitting quietly, and thinking was the last thing she wanted to do at that moment. As a result, she didn't last too long before plopping one of the mysterious morsels into her mouth.

Gwenevere's irises contracted immediately, her heart feeling as if it had completely stopped. In fact, the world itself seemed to hold its breath in anticipation of her reaction. Her every taste bud was now doing the singing for her-the running and dancing for her. The taste, the sensation of warm chocolate melting across her tongue and drizzling down her throat-it was more incredible than anything the little nymph had experienced in her life thus far.

"Oh by gosh! This is better than god-like power and sex combined!" She whispered, nearly sobbing in her delight.

Once even a fraction of her senses were restored, Gwenevere devoured the remainder of the box. Now in full nymphie hyper drive, she jumped upright from the floor. She _had_ to taste more! She wanted to experience that rush again. She HAD to! Claws at the ready, Gwenevere tore open the mess of boxes. She began horking down the chocolates, five at a time. Her eyes flashed crimson in the darkness, and bestial gurgles of delight and gluttony echoed throughout the shop that night.

No pastry was spared.

***  
Keeper Mcclay was pensively absorbed in one of his favorite books, so it was no surprise that Gwenevere's sudden stumble through his doorway caused him to jump. He leered up at her, temporarily forgetting to be hospitable.

"Is there anything you need, my dear?" he questioned.

"I thought this was my room, sorry." Gwenevere slurred, wiping a string of drool from her cheek.

But the aloe and nectar-flavored saliva wasn't the only substance staining the nymphs usually clean face. There was also chocolate-lots and lots of chocolate. Mcclay smirked, almost amused by the sight. Her face was nearly brown from the top of her chin to the tip of her nose, after all. How she'd managed to make such a mess of herself, he couldn't quite say.

"And what pray tell, have you been up to this evening?" he decided to investigate the matter.

Gwenevere licked her top lip, allowing her tongue to remain visible for a few seconds as if tasting the air like a snake.

"I went on a bunge."

"A what?" The Keeper crooked a greying eyebrow at her.

"That's what you humans call it, right? When one goes out and drinks themselves silly."

"I think you mean a 'binge', young Gwenevere." Mcclay chuckled under his breath. The little nymph nodded.

"Yeah, that. Only, I didn't drink a thing. I just raided a bakery for sweets is all-and now I have a tummy ache..." She moaned.

Keeper Mcclay examined the smears of chocolate donning the Woodsie Child's face like warpaint.

"Whatever would provoke you to take such a risk during the night for mere sweets?"

"Because I can, that's why!" Gwenevere snapped, her demeanor suddenly very unnatural and cold.

Keeper Mcclay was troubled by this indeed. He examined her closer, looking deep within her green and gold irises. There was a reason, although he knew she'd never tell him in such a state. But the eyes always revealed more than lips ever could-advice Mcclay had received from a forgotten Keeper long, long ago. And what he saw in Gwenevere's contracted and blood-stained eyes at that moment, truly disturbed him.

Unshed, forcefully hidden tears of woe formed a thin veil of glassy rage around her pupils. Regret, fury. Depression carefully interwoven with betrayal. These were not the happy, playful eyes of the sweet little nymph he had come to know and love. And the elder was almost certain why this change had occurred in her. With great hesitance, he attempted to communicate.

"Young Gwenevere, what troubles you so?"

Upon hearing his question, Gwenevere's posture took on the likeness and unpredictability of a hunted animal, and Keeper Mcclay was sure she was going to bolt. She slouched over, her back hunched and legs bent, and her eyes appeared both offended and mortified. Then, a softness overtook her features, causing her to recoil further before sinking to her knees in defeat.

"No matter how hard I try, I just can't seem to forgive anymore," she began.

"What do you mean?" Mcclay attempted to console her with his gentle words.

"When Garrett came here, I was so happy. I really did think he was dead, even though Ayeena tried to tell me that it was extremely unlikely. But then..." her voice grew hoarse, and she reached up to rub her eyes.

Keeper Mcclay remained silent, for there was nothing he could rightly say. No amount of pretty words or motivational optimism could possibly hope to quell the hurt that the broken girl at his feet was experiencing-and he knew that. Instead, he did the only helpful thing he could-he continued to listen.

"...All Garrett wanted to talk about was how much danger I was putting myself in, how foolish I looked. He barely held me for a moment before going off on some tangent about this blonde lady and how she was going to 'get' me."

"I admit, the thief could have handled your reunion more, 'decorously'." The Keeper offered.

"I didn't want to snap at him like that-I don't even really believe any of those hurtful things I said. But I just couldn't stand the way he treats me anymore. I felt like I had to stand up for myself." Gwenevere sniffed.

"It was important for you to do so, young one." Mcclay agreed.

While she continued to shake and weep upon the dirt floor, the Keeper turned back to his bookshelf and reached for an old book with a stained blue cover. When the young woman chanced a look up at him again, the elder was waiting to bestow the tome into her trembling, pastry-covered hands.

"Keyper Mcclay? What's this?"

"Garrett is...a complicated man. We've been trying to understand him for years, with little success," the elder smiled warmly at her. "If there is anyone who can truly unlock his mysteries, it is you."

Gwenevere found herself suddenly gawking down at the musty old book. The pages were yellowed with time and slight water damage, but the contents remained crisp and intact. As she opened the tome with trembling digits, her eyes grew wide and luminous. It didn't take her long to realize that this unassuming volume, was actually a compendium on her beloved thief's life.

"This book...it's about Garrett?!" She marveled in a hushed gasp, unable to fully believe what was right before her.

"Precisely. Before the effects of the Final Glyph, we Keepers once housed a glorious library, overflowing with secrets and knowledge. Alas, that sanctum now lies rotting beneath a truly despicable place."

"The House of Blossoms," Gwenevere slowly spoke, beginning to remember. Beginning to understand. Keeper Mcclay stared at her.

"How do you know this?"

"I've been there once. Garrett took me. It was...it was our first mission together." Once again, Gwenevere's eyes began to brim with tears.

"I see," Mcclay looked downward, ashamed to have unwittingly brought the damaged girl more grief. Gwenevere ran her hand over the first page, taking in all of the information it contained about her most trusted mentor-her most beloved human.

"Keyper Mcclay?" she started, when the elder began to leave the room in dismay.

"Yes?" he called over his shoulder. His brown eyes were hopeful.

"Thank you. This book is wonderful, and I shall treasure it always." Gwenevere smiled, hugging the tome to her chest. Keeper Mcclay, smiled back.

"You are quite welcome, dear one. In time, I hope that this book shall allow you to grasp and understand your mentor better. Perhaps then, you will be able to forgive him for his callous behavior-and in doing so, forgive yourself and move on."

Gwenevere's expression provided all the thanks Keeper Mcclay was expecting-and more. For the nymph was actually happy again. The robed man exited the room, leaving Gwenevere and her new book all alone. She wasted no time in reading the first entry:

_THURSDAY, JUNE 11th:_

_The young homeless boy we have taken into our midst is an anomaly in every sense of the word. Garrett is as expected, illiterate-but shows a surprisingly adamant desire to learn. Unfortunately, for every hidden talent this new novice manifests, three more blemishes become painfully evident. This brings me to the core subject matter of today's entry. Recently, several of the other Keeper novices have been complaining that their personal effects have been steadily disappearing ever since Garrett's arrival. The articles in question have been since discovered beneath the mattress of the boy in question. When interrogated as to why he had taken these possessions, our demands were disdainfully met with a blank, angry stare. Keeper Artemus, Garrett's mentor, has been readily informed of today's incident, and has been instructed to discipline his charge accordingly-and to keep a better eye on the lad. Further measures will be taken if this problem persists._

_-First Keeper Xaiver_

Gwenevere couldn't help but giggle a little at that. So he had been trouble right from the start! The image of her thief misbehaving in such a childish fashion was impossible to picture, and yet it was documented by men of truth and order. The little nymph released a bittersweet sigh as she skimmed down the page. Garrett had told her so little about his past, or his history with the Keepers. All she knew, was that he now seemed to despise them. But this certainly couldn't have happened without a reason-and the girl doubted that it had always been that way.

Gwenevere set the book down, and tried to smile as she watered her seeds, taking the time to feel each of their forming leaves as they fell away from her gentle touch. Pilfur weaved in and out between her legs, purring all the while. The little nymph looked down at him and sighed. He was trying so hard to make her happy. They all were. Keeper Mcclay, Sophie. But it just wasn't working.

It made her feel just a little bit better, knowing that she could read about him anytime she wished now. After all, the real Garrett was gone. She had sent him away for his own good-and for hers. These words resonated within her disheveled thoughts now, but try as she might, Gwenevere found that she just couldn't believe them.

***

What his many guests did not realize, was that Keeper Mcclay had an even more discreet hideout hidden from all of them. It was a shallow grotto, concealed behind a thick wall of trees and rubble at the very top of the quarry. Under the gleaming sliver of a waning crescent moon, the ancient Keeper stood in silent contemplation. But he was not alone.

"It's quiet tonight," commented his sole Enforcer. Her young voice still sounded strange. His ears had grown used to the more disturbing spectral voice she projected whenever she wore her mask.

"Yes," Mcclay nodded, his hands tucked deep within airy sleeves. He could feel Alma flittering about between his fingers. The wisp seemed to be anxious about something.

"You gave her his history, didn't you?" Sandris asked, having witnessed the odd look in Mcclay's eyes during their venture up to the lookout point.

"The summarized version-not the official texts. Those are far too valuable for even her hands."

"Garrett has always been linked into the prophecies; I can understand your reluctance." The Enforcer nodded.

Keeper Mcclay turned, and began observing her focused expression. So much wisdom in her every word, in her speaking patterns. Yet that face-it was still of a young girl. A practical child whom his fellows had deemed a deadly tool-and an unusable one. Perhaps Sandris was the former-but she was far from the latter.

"Did you ever manage to recover your mask, my most trusted Sandris?" the elder hoped, but her expression gave him a very disheartening answer before the words even left her mouth.

"Not even a trace remains..." she spoke mournfully.

Keeper Mcclay remained stationary for several moments, listening to the wind rustling through the trees. The earth was changing-not only in season, but in disposition as well. Something truly terrible was coming, and without any sort of lead or interpreter to speak of, the wizened old man was almost as helpless as the denizens down in The City below, when it came to unmasking the secrets.

"Sandris, I sincerely hope you understand that the deep emotional attachment you feel towards your mask is unwarranted. It is a synthetic drive, dear girl. A binding meant to keep you from ever taking the thing from your face-to keep you from revealing your identity to anyone ever again."

"I-I know that is the intention, Keeper Mcclay. But, to me at least, the yearning I feel for my mask is not an illusion."

"I believe you. But you must always remember the price you paid to be what you are. To endure what happened to you. The destruction of the Final Glyph resulted in many things, both good and evil." Mcclay reminded her. "You must try to come to grips with this, Sandris. It did not just alter the augmentation of your glyphs. It altered your mind."

"No more than The Keepers did before the event," she spoke bitterly. The elder's face sank in defeat.

It had been a decade now, since that fateful night. Since those fateful events which unbeknownst to Keeper Mcclay, would set off a chain reaction of emotional trials and nightmares.

The destruction of the glyph had freed the current Enforcers, granting them free will and power over their minds and lives once more. They had regained the ability to freely speak their names, and even remove their masks for the first time in years. However, the current Enforcers quickly began to grow mad; and many ended out committing suicide, unable to cope with the after effects-or the brainwashing which had clouded their minds for so very long.

However, some of the Keeper syndicates continued the practice of making Enforcers-to varying degrees of disaster. Those made after the destruction of the Final Glyph were much weaker and free-willed than their predecessors; and even the greatest of Keeper magic was unable to fully bind or augment them. And Sandris, was perhaps the worst case of these latter Enforcers.

She was to become the youngest Enforcer-at fifteen-due to her savant-like mastery of glyphs and stealth. But by the absolute worst of luck, her Enforcer ritual had taken place _during_ the destruction of the Final Glyph, via a Keeper union located on a neighboring island. Once it broke apart, the powers currently within the process of converting her into an Enforcer were horribly twisted and corrupted.

Fearing that she might become a potential threat, the Keepers motioned to have her executed. It was an almost completely unanimous vote. But thankfully, Keeper Mcclay had volunteered to take Sandris off their hands-vowing to monitor the young girl for any sign of taint or malice. Given his position, the remaining Keepers reluctantly agreed.

Years later, Sandris walked loyally by his side without incident. She had managed to retain most of her Enforcer powers-but with blessed free will and a strong personality to boot.

"I understand what happened that night," she croaked, "but with all due respect, Keeper Mcclay-my feelings towards my mask have nothing to do with any of that."

The elder looked her up and down, unsure if it was curiosity or discomfort that her latest statement had prompted him to feel.

"Then why, pray tell?"

"It's not really the mask at all-but rather, the memories of what I have seen through those eyes. All the wonderful things I've experienced while wearing it," she abruptly turned to face Mcclay, and an extremely sentimental gesture graced her pale face. "You gave me a chance to do something which no Enforcer before me had ever done."

"And what is that, dear Sandris?"

Sandris smiled, her two-toned eyes shimmering with a radiant grace.

"You gave me a chance to live."


	71. Chapter 71

During her training, Gwenevere had tailed Garrett every which way like a loyal hound, so it was no surprise that she now found herself easily lost within the city streets-even during daylight hours. Using the compass her late mentor had given her helped a bit, but only if she could remember the general direction of Keeper Mcclay's hideout, vs. where she wanted to venture. Gwenevere still didn't have a map of The City, or any of its many districts after all.

Usually, the nymph tried to remember specific landmarks. Linking the location of these to where she was headed did help her memorize the directions of the compass rose a bit better. The girl never did have an outstanding sense of direction, as Garrett could more than attest to-even when there _was_ a map involved. She was rarely able to read it without trouble.

She had just made it to the Stonemarket Plaza flower shop, that chocolate brown hair still a constant when venturing about under the harsh visibility of sunlight, and diligent eyes of the bluecoats. There were always those sparse members of the watch after all-the ones who kept loyal vigil over The City. Although in her own personal experience, being distrusting was usually more of a Hammerite thing.

Her new friend, Derick Garrison wasn't so bad though. He was kindly towards everyone-including Ayeena and her Grower sibling. But what the rogue Hammer still didn't know, was that Gwenevere was a nymph. She hadn't told him, for fear that the miraculous dynamic between she and the burgundy-clad Samaritan would shatter and break. After all, Gwenevere had since discovered that there was a limit to how much most humans could accept.

They were closed-minded and cautious creatures; for the most part. It was generally a very bad idea to give them more information than they could digest at any given time. Perhaps one day, she would be able to reveal her deep secret to her Hammerite buddy. Until that day, Gwenevere waited-and she prayed.

As Gwenevere reached the florist's little shop, she stopped just outside and gracefully traced the petals of a petunia resting atop a vendor's cart. Its purple petals felt soft, almost like her mother's cheek. The little nymph sighed, wondering what it would feel like-trying to even imagine the sheer zest Viktoria must have felt every time she made the flowers in the meadows dance. Gwenevere knew she would never be able to do that. She wasn't her mother.

Out of her peripheral vision, the little nymph managed to spot a blonde young man hastily making his way down the street. He appeared, apprehensive-which set off an automatic response from Gwenevere. But when she looked closer, a marvelous sensation filled her body.

"WOKSWORTH!" she squealed, practically pouncing onto the nervous man. She landed against his chest, instinctively coiling both her arms and legs around his body for support. Thankfully, despite their stature and form, most wood nymphs weighed less than fifty pounds. Gwenevere looked the terrified man in the eyes, her own forest green irises gleaming with excitement and absolute joy.

"I-I-I...Do I...know you?" It was instantly apparent that the young man didn't recognize her with the change in hair color. Gwenevere immediately released him, and backed away with a sheepish smirk.

"It's me-Gwenevere! This hair...it's a disguise! So is the hat and eye patch, by the way!" she leaned forward and whispered, her eyes going shifty. Although he was still rather flustered and confused, Woksworth did manage to recognize her this time.

"Oh! Why hello then, little miss Gwenevere!"

"Hi Wokksie! How's it going you?" The girl giggled.

"Well, I've decided to make some positive and difficult changes in my life," Timothy Woksworth proclaimed upon clearing his thin throat. The man straightened his posture before continuing. "Firstly, I have converted from Hammerite to Mechanist. Secondly, I have left m'lady Lilithia, since I realized just how horrid she really is."

"No offence Timothy," Gwenevere began, "but how can you convert to a false religion?"

To her surprise, the attorney appeared neither angry nor offended.

"Perhaps 'converted' was an incorrect choice of wording on my part. You see, I still believe in the Builder-and no, I do not believe that madman Karras was a deity or any of the associated tripe. I merely choose to admire their work. In a sense, I am spiritual-not religious."

"I don't really understand, but okay," she shrugged.

"How is your friend? The Pagan girl you rescued that night along with yours truly?" The man inquired, no longer comfortable discussing his personal life. Gwenevere's face caved and contorted to reveal a most dire frown.

"She's alive, but she can't walk ever again."

With a trill of terror, the attorney felt the blood rush away from his face. His mouth gaped open, at a loss for what to say. After all, how was a complete stranger supposed to respond to such grave news? But the look in Gwenevere's eyes pleaded to him. She was expecting something-a kindness. Timothy Woksworth was certainly capable of granting his savior that.

"I-I'm terribly sorry..." he croaked out an exhausted sigh, rubbing the base of his forehead. "The Hammerites, have truly fallen from glory. Such untempered cruelty..."

"I don't know about all that," the girl remained oddly stoic, "but my new friend Derick Garrision isn't cruel. He left the order to pursue enlightenment."

"Enlightenment?" Timothy crooked an eyebrow at her words.

"Uh-huh! He says there is so much more to doing the Builder's work than mindlessly bludgeoning sinners. He wants to try and get the others to see that too. That's why he's out nailing his findings to the Hammerite Chapel door right now." Gwenevere nodded.

"Is...is your new friend a Hammerite then?" Woksworth looked worried.

"Oh sure! But as I mentioned, he's not some tightly-wound jerk. I think you'd really like him."

"I...don't think that would be such a good idea, m'lady." Woksworth emitted a nervous laugh. Gwenevere seemed puzzled.

"Why not?" She cocked her head.

"Well, I identity far more with the Mechanists now! I could be tried and persecuted if any Hammerite were to discover that!"

"Aww, don't you worry Wokksie! There's no judgement in my Merry Gang!"

"Your Merry...Gang?" The young man pursed his lips. "Ah! Yes of course! You refer to the classic novel by Howie Pile, 'Robber Hood and his Merry Thugs'. Quite the literary gem that. Why, I recall the time Lady Lilithia visited the Old Quarter Opera House to preview the thespian reenactment of that novel. The great Peter Crispen portrayed such a dashing Robber Hood that evening, and Lady Valerius herself took on the role of M'lady Marine! Such an enchanting performance!" Timothy Woksworth was no longer paying any attention to Gwenevere, his eyes partially glazed over-lost within the memories of a happier time in his life. Only when the concerned little nymph tapped his shoulder, did he return to the present.

"Hey Wokksie? Why don't you join my Merry Gang?" she offered.

Timothy eyed her curiously, as if trying to gauge the sincerity of such a request. At first, he had thought the girl confused as to the title of a famous work of fiction. Now, he wasn't quite sure what to think.

"What is a Merry Gang?" he finally just asked.

"Oh!" Gwenevere's eyes lit up like a street lamp, "My Merry Gang consists of a band of vigilantes. We help the poor, save people in peril, and doing other good works around The City to further the message of coexistence."

"I see..." Woksworth stroked his chin. "So you're the group I've been hearing so much about lately."

"Yup, probably!" Gwenevere grinned. "So, wanna join?"

Timothy Woksworth was stunned. Here he was, getting recruited to join a group of law-breaking rogues on the spot. As an associate to the nobles, he wasn't exactly in a position of pity for those oppressed by the higher classes. Woksworth had never known persecution, hunger, or even all that much pain. Until he had been accused, tortured, and sentenced to die in the Hammerite quarries earlier that year.

He stared into Gwenevere's livid expression. This was the brave woman whom had rescued him-even though he hadn't been one of her friends at all. Quite the contrary-until recently, he had been working for the mistress of Gwenevere's kidnapper. Yet this startling fact did absolutely nothing to quell her kindness and acceptance.

Woksworth began to frown. He had nowhere left to go, and even if he didn't entirely agree with what had been happening around Auledale via this new revolutionary fold-and their almost nightly raids-he did at least understand why they were doing these things. Besides, if any of what Lady Lilithia and Father Volkorn were plotting was inevitably true, he felt a sense of duty to inform Gwenevere about the potential danger she was in.

"Sure, I'll join up-b-but only as an informant!" Woksworth quickly corrected. "I-I don't want to break into any buildings, and I don't want to have to use a weapon or anything dangerous like that!"

"Sounds good to me," Gwenevere released an overjoyed giggle. "Information would be really useful, and you used to know a lot of nobles, didn't ya?"

"I did, certainly," Woksworth proclaimed, although he was growing nervous again, "but I doubt that the inner workings and domestic disputes of those families would be of any interest to your...gang."

"You'd be surprised-sometimes it's the smallest leak that makes the biggest difference." Gwenevere's grin lessened ever so slightly.

"Wise words, my friend."

"Thank you. I learned them from Garrett."

***

Gwenevere and Derick had planned to meet back up at Keeper Mcclay's hideout, once their work around The City was complete. But they both ended up bringing along an unexpected visitor when the time came. He was standing with his back to her, so Gwenevere was none the wiser when she saw the robed Grower conversing with her new Hammerite friend.

"Hi Derick! Who's that?" she questioned, a bit curious. Timothy Woksworth filed in behind her, obviously growing apprehensive at the sight of another burly Hammer.

"M'lady Gwenevere," Derick gave a gracious bow.

The gesture was more out of respect and chivalry, than servitude. Gwenevere had made it very clear, that she was not to be served or worshiped. All of her merry revolutionaries were on the same level of importance-she, had merely been the one to found their cause. The unseen robed person, slowly began to turn.

"Well ain't this a fine howdy do?" Dawson grinned, his strangely perfect teeth already making her uncomfortable.

Once the initial surprise had worn off, the wood nymph's veins began to pulse with extreme rage. This man-no...this foolish, greedy, cowardly weed of a lifeform. He had betrayed so many, herself included. Everything Ayeena had told her instantly melted into a resemblance of that acidic black goo which the forsaken god child no longer possessed. Gwenevere was now fully convinced, that she was more human than the repulsive charlatan who now grinned before her.

"Hiya Gwenevere! I had no idea yall'd be here! Derick told us that he knew that there Conscripted One an' all. But wow-wee! I never thought aye'd be seein' you again honey!" Gwenevere was trembling now, her frown deep and her agitation apparent.

"You don't belong here!" she announced, lowering her glare. Dawson's goofy smile faded to almost nothing, but he tried to remain positive.

"Well, aye was invited, so..." he shrugged. Derick displayed a slight cringe as Dawson pointed his thumb backwards towards the burly soul-searcher. More so, as Gwenevere's eyes drifted to him. But she crooked her head, seemingly betrayed.

"Derick? Is this true?" She asked, her tone soft again and her eyes very wide.

"M'lady Gwenevere, I thought it would be alright! We have a gift of trust for miss Ayeena."

"Ayeena?" The young woman placed an index finger to her lips, still befuddled.

"Derick came an' told us 'bout what happened. It's a real tragedy, what them Hammerites have done to her," the Grower Leader slapped Derick across the shoulders, "at least there's _one_ good Hammer in the world, eh?"

"There are more!" Derick boomed, in an aggression most unlike him. "My brothers have been lead astray and lied to by a man who claims to speak for our god, yet taints his very words to crude and rot!"

"Yeah, okay..." Dawson backed away slowly. "Erm, so about this whole here meetin'...Derick here has an amazing idea. Oh, he's the real deal alright! Ya know, I bet his Builder would say that he should be leadin' them there Hammerites instead'a-"

"SILENCE!" the Hammerite barked again. "Thou shalt not pretend to understand the Builder's will when even I have no clear path!" He was tempted to raise his weapon in frustration alone, though Builder knew there were many more crimes for which this man was now accountable. Blasphemy, for a start. Derick was no leader. He was a mason for justice now, a sinner in search of redemption.

"Go away Dawson!" Gwenevere intervened, not wishing to give Dawson in all of his foolery another chance to enrage her beefy friend with the big hammer and the short fuse. Even if she hated his guts, Gwenevere didn't want the Grower Leader dead. After all, his followers had already lost enough. It would be best if he just left for home in one piece.

"Look, Gwenevere. I'm sorry. From the bottom of my heart, I truly, really am!" The young man pressed his hands against his chest, his expression pleading and desperate.

"Tell that to every Grower, Pagan, and creature who lost someone because of your insane crusade that night!" She snarled.

"I've already done that!" Dawson defended. "Ask anyone! Ask Ayeena!"

"She's already vouched for you." Gwenevere managed to grumble, though it wasn't easy.

"Well then-"

"-but I'm not convinced yet," the nymph growled in an almost guttural voice. "You let my tree beast guardian die Dawson! Richardd died because of YOU!"

"Richardd? His name was Richardd?! Huh, wasn't even aware that tree beasties had names..." The Grower mumbled.

"EVERY living creature has a name, Dawson!" Gwenevere shrieked. "Every soul lost because of you that night...they all had names. Families. Futures of which _you _deprived them of!"

She felt a lump rise and tighten inside of her frail throat. Her lips quivered back and forth between a forced veneer of calm, and a deep agonizing frown. At last, Gwenevere just looked away. She couldn't stand to be near Dawson a moment longer. She could still hear their screams-human wails and animal warbles. Meat being crunched and devoured by metal teeth and smoking cannons.

Dawson recognized her pain, and his smile was now completely destroyed. A guilt like nothing he had felt for his crimes thus far threatened to overwhelm his person, and it took a considerable deal of inner strength to keep himself from breaking down along with her. Derick had calmed down considerably by now; the reveal of whatever horrors had transpired now rendering him sympathetic.

"Gwenevere," Dawson bravely began. "Look. I deserve your hatred, alright? My people don't say nothing, but I know that they secretly blame me for your departure."

The Hammerite's eyebrow quirked at that.

"Your...departure?"

Gwenevere's teary red eyes flew open. Derick didn't know of her past as a Grower, and he certainly didn't know that she was a nymph-let alone _the_ nymph. The Spawn of The Trickster. They were friends-a Hammerite and a wood nymph, were friends. That in and of itself, was an utmost miracle. Her dilemma wasn't over being mercilessly crushed by his holy weapon-it was about losing such a new and precious friend.

Almost robotically, her head craned upwards to face him.

"Yeah, I-I used to help them once," the little nymph managed to weave a thin shroud over the truth, but even Gwenevere knew it wouldn't hold for long. She _had_ to tell Derick the truth, and soon.

"Yup. Yup ya did," Dawson nodded. "So hows about we put the past behind us, and start over Gwenevere? A good, old fashioned hug seems a great place to start, yeah?"

Before Gwenevere could answer-let alone process what was happening-the Grower leader opened his arms wide, and started towards her. He seemed completely unfazed by the way Gwenevere leered venomously into his stupid expression.

"Don't...I'm warning you..." she hissed, reaching for something unseen in her rabbit fur pouch.

"Aww, come on now! Ya know I'm sorry, Gwenevere!" Dawson did eventually stop but a few feet from her face. He began to look around jokingly, before continuing, "or is that ol' Garrett taffergrump around ta get all high and mighty?"

Those words, couldn't have been spoken at a worse time.

The little nymph's power was fading, weakening by the hour, and so neither vines nor acid came spewing from her body in reaction to Dawson's words, or his inevitable embrace. But all the same, the farm boy fell with a listless groan to the wet earth when he grabbed her-as a spore grenade was clocked against his unsuspecting temple. Gwenevere's eyes were intense and dedicated, her free arm firmly fastened against her mouth and nose-serving as a decent protection against the debilitating mixture of pollens.

Derick and Woksworth's reactions, were unanimously that of pure shock. Thankfully, they were both a safe distance away from the toxic attack, as their gaping mouths wouldn't have been all too helpful. When the yellow cloud had settled, she withdrew her arm and casually flipped a strand of hair up over her finely boned shoulder.

"Take him inside Derick. I trust you brought him here with you for a reason," Gwenevere spoke in a distant tone. She watched pensively through disinterested eyes as the Hammerite hoisted and threw the Grower up over his shoulder as effortlessly as a ragdoll. Woksworth approached, his entire body shaken.

"I...I think I'm going to follow after...after them..." he whined, making haste after Derick without even allowing the nymph a chance to respond.

But even if she'd wished to, Gwenevere was far too lost and shattered to shape her thoughts into words. She now found herself rendered silent as any tree, sadness coating her form like an invisible gloss. Even her usually emotional eyes displayed no sign of consciousness.  
_  
I'm finally using them Garrett-on Dawson, no less. Are you happy now?_

Her thoughts were bitter, and she knew it. Gwenevere also knew that they were pointless. Garrett wasn't watching her little show-he didn't even care about her anymore. And he, would never be happy with her again.


	72. Chapter 72

_SATURDAY SEPTEMBER 8TH,_

_Young Garrett seems to be growing more accustomed to his new life with us. While incidents still do occur much too regularly for my liking, Keeper Artemus has certainly been doing a more astute job of keeping his charge in check. Though he likes to believe otherwise, Artemus is still very much a child himself-and that heart of his will one day be his undoing. Garrett has been making substantial progress in his training, the rate of improvement is astounding! He has begun to surpass even the older novices in his agility and wit. Thanks to the stern diligence Keeper Isolde practices with all of her students, the lad grows less illiterate by the day. His handwriting however, still leaves much to be desired. I will have to speak to Artemus again today, to instruct him to add proper penmanship into his array of lessons. That, and our store off sugar and apples from within the larder remains unaccounted for._

_-First Keeper Xaiver_

***  
**KEEPER MCCLAY'S HIDEOUT:**

A musty dirt ceiling was the last thing he expected to see upon awakening. Dawson blinked once, his body feeling incredibly dry and numb.

"Sheee-it..." he groaned, pushing back his chestnut bangs with the base of his thumb.

"Waah!" Exclaimed a pitiful sounding voice from beside him. Dawson groaned again, struggling to turn his head to face the sound.

"What the?" He squinted his eyes upon sighting a young man huddled in the corner. "Boy, what the heck are you doin'?"

" Y-you scared me..." The lad peeped, his pale face still contorted in surprise. The farmer sat up.

"Woah there son! Aye ain't gonna bite," Dawson offered, waving his arms in a frantic attempt to try and calm the young man down.

"Y-yes. I know. I just get jumpy sometimes," Tobias commented.

"Moonshine?" Dawson grinned.

"What?" The Grower Leader's smile melted.

"Eh, never mind." He looked up at the earthy ceiling again, listening to the dribbling of water from somewhere off to his left. "How'd I get down here?"

"Derick Garrison carried you here, after Gwenevere stunned you."

Dawson rubbed his head again, where the wood nymph had broken the pottery grenade against his skull.

"A-yup, that's right."

Tobias gradually slunk out of the corner, and approached the situated young man.

"She was very angry with you. She didn't even want Derick to bring you down here-I could just tell!" Tobias continued, not exactly making the situation any better for the flustered farmer.

"Yup, that's 'bout what she told me too," Dawson nodded, a remorseful sigh exiting his parched lips.

The Keeper's apprentice picked up a ceramic jug and a wooden cup from the trunk at the end of the bed. He began pouring out a generous helping of icy water for his guest. Dawson sat in a hesitant stupor, the world now passing before his eyes in a surreal spectrum of colors, and busy shapes. He was unsure if the cause was an after effect of the spore grenade attack, or if his over-stressed nerves had finally decided to start rejecting an unexpected reality.

"Keeper Mcclay says that I am to watch over you, until you wake up. Then, he wants me to bring you to him."

"Ya mean the Conscripted One?" Dawson's eyes went wide. "He here?!"

"Um, I don't know who that is," Tobais mumbled, handing the farmer the cup. Dawson guzzled it down desperately. "But Keeper Mcclay did request to speak with you, so whenever you're ready..."

***

It didn't take them long to find the Keeper. Mcclay was with his daughter, Ayeena's eyes lucid and accepting. Enforcer Sandris was as always, keeping loyal vigil over her ancient mentor. The three all turned and gawked as he and lanky Tobias entered the bedroom.

Upon seeing Ayeena, alive and alert, Dawson began to feel incredibly breathless. Immediately, the Grower Leader rushed over and sank into her welcoming embrace. The two friends squeezed one another tightly and cried for several moments. Neither Keeper Mcclay nor Sandris attempted to intercept their beautiful reunion. Instead, they were intent to just watch, their powerful emotions impossible to decipher on such vacant faces.

"We thought ya were dead, Ayeena. Thank the Last Mother yer alright!" Ayeena's eyes began to well up with emotion.

"Yes. Bes thankers thems Last Mother indeed."

She looked up and smiled through a teary expression at her friend. That's when Dawson finally spotted Gwenevere lurking in the doorway. After releasing his kin, the farmer turned to her.

"Oh, hey Gwenevere," he greeted nervously.

Gwenevere didn't answer him, instead taking her place next to the mysterious robed man. Dawson stared at Mcclay. No words were exchanged, but this wasn't necessary. Something emanated from the elder, making his power and importance known. Dawson didn't need to ask if he was the fabled Conscripted One-it was blatantly obvious.

"Greetings, Dawson Landon. I take it that my squire has been most accommodating?" The Keeper creaked.

"Yeah, he was," the farmer nodded in Tobias's direction, his refreshed lips forming a thankful smile. Tobias blushed in embarrassment.

"Good. Now, I'll assume that Derick brought you along to convince my daughter of his intentions." Ayeena looked up at Mcclay, almost shocked to hear that the Hammerite she detested was somehow involved in all of this.

"How did ya know about what we had planned for her?" The Grower inquired, suddenly very confused.

"She is my child-'tis my business to know." Mcclay replied solemnly. "While you were assisting the Hammerite, I informed Ayeena of your plan. You'll be happy to hear, that she has agreed to try it."

With that, the Keeper gave his offspring a warm smile. Upon recite of his approval, the Pagan girl whipped the sheet off of her legs. Or, what was left of them. Dawson felt a trill of disbelief rock his person, as the sight of the bandaged stumps burned their way into his mind. Little Ayeena, often likened to a graceful deer in both her lithe form and agility, was now broken and helpless.

She and Nellarose had belonged to a Grower sect just north of The City for the majority of her life, only re-joining the origin cult less than a year ago. She had returned when news of Gwenevere's arrival within the faction began to spread. But by the time the sisters had managed to return to their home, the Last Mother, had already been stolen away from them by that meddlesome thief. His stomach grew tight with burning knots, and a hideous sneer spread across his face.

"The Hammerite's did this?!" He whispered, rage poisoning his every breath.

"They crushed her legs. Hence, it was inevitable that I remove them. I spoke to Ayeena earlier in the week, and she agreed." Mcclay informed. "We couldn't risk infection, and there was no way to save them."

"Well, you said ya knew what Derick and I did..."

"Indeed I do."

"Father? What bes yous and Dawson speakers of?" Ayeena intercepted, feeling a bit left out of the entire conversation. The two men where so wrapped up in whatever cryptic ideas they had, that they had been speaking as if she, Gwenvere, and Tobias were all somehow absent from the room.

"Yeah Dawson!" Gwenevere snapped, accusingly. "What are you up to?"

"Perhaps, it is time I joined you," Derick Garrison emerged from his listening spot behind Ayeena's bedroom door. There was something relatively large being held behind his back, nearly hammer sized. Immediately, the Pagan girl's eyes grew savage.

"YOU! What have I bes tellers you always?! Getsie out!" She hissed and snarled like a rabid badger. Gwenevere looked back and forth between her two friends with worried green eyes.

"Ayeena? What's the matter?" the nymph inquired, patting her on the back. She felt as Ayeena grew hostile.

"He bes the matter! He bes needers to die!" Her primitive features took on a malicious luster. "You must bes deadings hims Gwenevere! Before-"

"Stop," the Hammer spoke very calmly. "Do not strike down the non-believers and heretics, but rather build bridges so that we may cross the gap, and offer up our knowledge and tools."

Ayeena spat at his words.

"Bes not goes poisoning my room with thems Hammerhead speak!"

"Forgive my correction, dear lady, but that is not Hammerite. Those, are my own beliefs." Derick retorted.

"BES LEAVINGS!" Ayeena screeched.

But the crimson-clad holy warrior stood his ground. The Pagan girl muttered, and began to frantically search her surroundings for something to throw at the persistent bastard. While she was distracted, Derick revealed the object he had been hiding. Breath caught in Gwenevere's throat, and she trembled.

"Ayeena...look..." the little nymph gasped.

"FILTHY HAMMERHEADED-" Ayeena roared. But as her hazel eyes fell upon the object in Derick Garrison's arms, she suddenly stopped mid-sentence.

Within the metal grip of her most hated enemy, was a pair of smooth skinned, mechanized legs.

"I know Ayeena, I know. I didn't wanna believe it either, when I first saw a Hammerite trotting through our village," Derick's posture stiffened, as the Grower's hand found his shoulder. "But I can assure you, hon. This one's different."

Ayeena bit her bottom lip, as tears quickly filled her eyelids.

"He made these legs almost all by his lonesome, Ayeena. Of course, it took mah genius to supervise," Dawson winked.

"Yes. Dawson guided my hand in the way of Grower technology," Derick credited. "These prosthetics have a fire and water arrow inside each leg, which magically conducts a powerful steam to power the joints. This power will allow you to sprint and move even quicker than before."

"And I made sure he put that there silicon flesh covering over 'em. That way, they'll look and feel just like real legs. Nothing but the best for you, Ayeena."

"But why are YOU here exactly, if Derick made these?" Gwenevere accused, her arms crossed.

"I came at Derick's behest, because he informed me that Ayeena would rightfully never trust a gift from a Hammer. But as I said before, he ain't no brutish Hammerite Juggernaut." The farmer chuckled.

"Well, bes-" Breath caught in Ayeena's throat.

She held him accountable for everything-because frankly, there weren't any other Hammerheads around to take the blame for her fate. Derick Garrison owed her for his people's crimes, this was the very least he could do! But the truth remained-Derick hadn't been the one to disable her in the first place. So why had he done this? If it was not guilt that fueled his endeavors, what then? Breathless, and eyes full of tears, the Pagan girl had nothing left to say.

"You don't need to say anything, m'lady. I was happy to make these."

Keeper Mcclay looked his daughter in the eyes.

"What do you think? Would you like to give them a try, my dear?"

Ayeena was still for a few long moments, before giving a slight modicum of acknowledgment.

"Very well," the elder smiled.

Releasing Ayeena from her embrace, Gwenevere hopped off the bed and gently grabbed one of the prosthetics from Derick's awaiting hands. Dawson took hold of the other, giving the Hammerite a tearful, grateful nod as he did so. They worked carefully, and managed to slip and fasten the new legs with little difficulty.

As they assisted her friend, Gwenvere watched Dawson with her peripheral vision. Ayeena wasn't the only one who was having second thoughts over the motivations and character of a certain enemy. The nymph was certainly beginning to consider if the Grower Leader was changing. She was still far from trusting, or even liking him. But if he was going this far out of his way for Ayeena, then maybe. Maybe there was some hope there.

When she was ready, Keeper Mcclay gave Sandris an approving wave of his hand. The Enforcer, together with Gwenevere, stepped forward to assist Ayeena to her feet for the first time in weeks. The first time ever, on these new gifts. As she took her first quaking step, an indescribable freedom flooded her soul. Keeper Mcclay watched her venture forward on those unsure legs, and tears began to form within the corners of his mystical eyes.

It was like watching his daughter learn to walk again, for the first time.

She started to stumble, and, as before all those years ago, the Keeper rushed forward and caught her before she could fall. Ayeena looked into his warm expression, and actually laughed. For the first time in over two decades, Keeper Mcclay, heard his daughter's beautiful laughter again. He assisted her back to her feet, feeling as his face grew wet. As he watched his child gain back her maneuverability-her life-the Ancient Keeper soon found that he could not stop the powerful wave of tears that came rushing down his face.

He turned and looked at Derick, allowing the holy warrior to see the tears which Mcclay would normally have kept hidden from all. But these tears were different. They had come because of the valiant generosity of this crimson-clad stranger-and the elder needed to display such incredible gratitude.


	73. Chapter 73

**THE CITY  
SEVERAL WEEKS AGO:**

_The lamp lit streets illuminated the wet cobblestones, causing them to glisten like a sea of oil. This late into the night, they seemed devoid of life-completely silent and dead. This, was never the case. As the moonlighters and vagrants knew like none other, there was always something happening within that dismal little city. Somewhere down one of those unwelcoming alleyways, a man propositioned an independent harlot. Across the street, a sewer rat breathed it's last beneath the suffocating grip of a striped tabby's paws. Across town, the wife of the aforementioned adulterer welcomed his best friend into her bedchambers. Further down, a woman's protests and shrieks augmented the night air with chill and trepidation. It was in this particular section of town, where an unassuming farm girl had found her dear friend Erin at the mercy of some unknown slum thugs._

_Nellarose had rightly assumed that the assassin was being mugged, or possibly raped. This was her initial reason for letting go of Stinky's leash. Not that the burrick needed much convincing to charge maniacally out of the shadows after the men. After the events that followed, Nellarose lurked there behind those moldy wooden crates-listening to every word Erin assumed only Stinky could hear. Afterwards, once her friend had retreated back into those seemingly quiet alleyways, the Grower gave chase. She wasn't leaving Erin alone-not after all that!_

_Unfortunately, fate had other ideas. Erin hadn't returned to her hideout that night. Instead, Nellarose tailed her to some rudimentary apartments in South Quarter. At the very last window, the assassin stopped. She didn't move, and she didn't speak. Erin simply looked ahead, staring up at that dusty window ledge with a sort of tragic longing encased within her wide cerulean irises. Nellarose had never seen someone so desperate and broken in her entire young life. She must have stood there for hours, simply staring into that darkened window; Nellarose watching intently in between bouts of trying to calm and silence the persistent baby burrick._

_By the time Erin decided to leave the window, it was nearly dawn. Knowing full well that she could never get away with having a burrick on a leash in broad daylight, Nellarose was regrettably forced to head back to Keeper Mcclay's hideout. But this wouldn't be the last time she tried to locate her obviously miserable new friend._

********************

**KEEPER MCCLAY'S HIDEOUT  
PRESANT DAY:**

Ayeena continued to spin and dance upon her new legs, the others all captivated and emotional by the sight of her sheer joy. Caught up in the satisfaction he had given her, Derick approached the prancing Pagan woman, a large smile now donning his usually stern face. However, Ayeena was still far from pleased with her Hammerite helper.

"Bes leavings now!" She snapped rather sharply. The Hammerite was expectedly shocked by this reaction-needless to say, they all were. Keeper Mcclay's eyes narrowed, and Gwenevere gasped.

"But Ayeena! This guy is the reason you can walk again!" the nymph protested. "You should be nice to him!"

"Nice?!" Ayeena hissed, still glowering up at Derick. "Bes it not for his Hammerhead brothers, I bes never loosers my legs in thems first place!"

The Hammerite felt his chest tighten. Such cruelty, he had never witnessed in anyone before. Even his peace offering hadn't managed to gain her trust, leading the crestfallen zealot to a most unsettling conclusion. This woman hated him with a burning passion, and she wasn't about to change her mind. Perhaps there was nothing he could do for her after all. Perhaps it _would_ be better if he left.

"I...shall be going then." Derick managed, his eyes refusing to make contact with anyone.

Keeper Mcclay and the others watched him go, Ayeena relishing in the moment.

"Young lady, you do realize that Derick is not the cause of your plight? Gwenevere is correct in saying that if not for he, you would never walk again."

Ayeena looked surprised, noticing as Gwenevere nodded silently in agreement. While in truth, she was grateful for what the resourceful Hammer had done, she didn't want to show it. It seemed wrong. He was her enemy-wasn't he?

"The least you could do, is try and consider being nicer to the boy," Mcclay continued, a parental firmness seasoning his every word. Ayeena rolled her eyes, and continued to walk around the small dusty room.

"Hey! Bes any of yous seen Nellarose?" Ayeena asked, suddenly very concerned.

With the gift of her new legs, and the excitement over the miracle of being able to walk again, the young woman had completely failed to notice that her little sister wasn't in the room.

"She's been leaving around nine every night ever since Erin and Stinky went away," Gwenevere informed.

Keeper Mcclay's eyes grew concerned. He discreetly gave Sandris a knowing nod. The Enforcer nodded back, and sprinted out of the room.

"Gwenevere, before I forget..." Dawson began, completely unsure of himself.

"Yes?" Gwenevere tried to sound polite, but she was still very leery of Dawson's presence.

"I gotta be gettin' back to my people soon. But I wanted to ask if you would consider helping us in the future. The Growers could certainly use some assistance in gettin' back on our feet after the purge."

Gwenevere was silent for several moments, pondering the possibility. But due to her nature as a humanitarian, it wasn't a particularly difficult decision.

"Alright. We'll help your people," she began.

"Oh, thank ya kindly-"

"But," Gwenevere continued, "I want to make this very clear. I'm doing this for the Growers-_not_ their leader."

****************  
**  
ERIN'S HIDEOUT:**

"Shh, no. No Stinky," Nellarose crooned, trying to keep the adolescent burrick from barreling her way through the hideout. It was late, and Nellarose didn't want to risk accidently startling her friend. Erin wasn't exactly expecting guests, after all.

The teenager was struggling with her predicament. Like some sort of amateur circus performer, she swiveled and wobbled, trying to keep a firm grip on Stinky's leash, all the while dodging splintered crates, and possibly activated traps. Nellarose had a good eye for traps, after all. She had trained with Ayeena a few years back, in hopes of becoming a Grower scout, like her big sister. Had it not been for her strong interest in animals-and the outbreak of newborn foals that Spring-she would have succeeded. But in the end, Nellarose had decided to contribute her talents of creature rearing, and domestication to the Grower Order. Women of the woods, could train horses like none other.

Burricks, were a different story entirely. Nellarose highly doubted that they could be trained-they weren't exactly very bright to begin with. Stinky's devotion to Erin was tightly wound around several factors-most importantly of all, she had imprinted on the assassin. But then came that little argument which poked and teased at the corners of the Grower teen's subconscious: Stinky had no such loyalty towards Nellarose, yet she had never belched foul gas, or attempted to attack her in any way. Even without the aforementioned toxin, burricks were perfectly capable of crushing a full grown adult with their weight alone. Yet, Stinky remained complacent enough to be leashed. Even if she did struggle and pull the entire trip like an undisciplined hound.

Stinky whined and clawed her way forward, causing Nellarose to trip over an old and soggy stack of newspapers. She landed with a painful scrape, feeling as the crates buried her.

"See? This is why thieves hate burricks," a familiar voice scoffed from across the room.

Erin was laying casually atop her twin bed, staring lost up through the cracks in the ceiling. Nellarose struggled to free herself from the fallen crates and derbies, but Stinky's incessant barks and pulling at her leash to get to Erin weren't exactly helping matters. Erin blew on her bangs and reluctantly kicked herself up from her comfy spot. She pranced over to the struggling farm girl and grinned with bemusement. Nellarose's lips parted as Erin offered her a hand.

"You okay?" She chuckled with a smile.

"Y-yeah."

Stinky took hold of the opportunity to put her claws up on her 'mother', and proceeded to lick her unguarded face. Erin exclaimed in disgust and surprise, before pushing her off. Nellarose dusted her skirt off, wincing as she noticed how badly she had skinned her knee.

"You sure?" Erin pressed, upon hearing her moan slightly.

"Well, I didn't notice before...but I think I taffed up my knee," the farm girl managed.

"Here, sit down," the assasin motioned to her bed, still grinning slightly.

In truth, she was overjoyed that Nellarose had found her, if only for the fact that she no longer had to be alone. For whatever reason, Erin felt further away from her troubles whenever she spent time with others. But she was still such an antisocial recluse, so it never lasted. She was afraid, no question about it. She'd been performing her best in the 'show' down at the House of Blossoms every Saturday, as promised. But still the cold fingers of death kept her awake, watching the shadows at night. They were no longer her solace, no longer her friend. Her blue eyes would stare upward, wondering mortified if the Ramirez Bastards would send any of their cronies after her loved ones just to keep her in line. She couldn't trust them.

Nellarose allowed her body to sink into the surprisingly fluffy bed, and she lifted the bottom of her Grower frock up over her wounded knee. Erin took one look at the scraped and bloody mess that was the farm girl's knee, and frowned.

"Ouch," she grimaced.

She went to work, first breaking a water arrow over the injury to clean it. Next, she reached across the floor for a half-empty potion bottle, and allowed just a droplet to dribble onto the ravaged flesh. The assassin then proceeded to bandage the knee with some fresh cloth from her pack. Nellarose watched her work, curious and grateful.

"Feelin' any better?" Erin smiled, gazing up at the Grower with her gorgeous blue eyes.

"It still kinda hurts, but I'll be fine. Thank ya."

"Anytime."

Nellarose lazily kicked her healthy leg back and forth, the situation suddenly strange and awkward. She wasn't used to people treating her like a child anymore. Grower life made harsh demands on the youth, and anyone over the age of twelve was admonished if they failed to be hard-working and self-sufficient. No one back home would spend so much time treating a skinned knee as her new friend just had-not even Ayeena.

Erin's expression softened, her eyes closing halfway. Her black eyebrows arched in concern at the Grower teen, and her sudden bout of silence.

"You okay?"

"Y-yeah," Nellarose gulped. "It's just...I'm not used to anyone fretting over me like this." She tried to laugh, so her host wouldn't be hurt or offended.

"You and me both girl," Erin chuckled, genuinely. "You know, my dad was up my ass the other day about 'proper' first aid techniques. That's probably the only reason I was able to tend to you at all." The raven-haired assassin laughed again, but then a look of darkness tainted her features. As if dying, her lips flopped into a motionless frown. Erin stared off into the nothingness of her back wall, absolutely petrified as the harshness of reality hit her.

Garrett, was probably dead.

"Erin?" The farm girl leaned over, examining her friend's troubled expression. Jumping, the assassin turned her head to face Nellarose's concerned words.

"Y-yeah. I'm perfectly fine," she forced a crimped, painful smile.

"You sure?"

"I said I'm good, so yeah!" The feisty woman snapped. "Anyway, how'd you even find my place? Were you and Stinky_ following_ me or something?" Erin continued to retort, desperately fighting to distract her ailing mind.

"Sorta," Nellarose squeaked, feeling incredibly sheepish. The assassin looked up and gave her a bemused expression.

"Why?"

"Because, ya'll were all up in a panic when ya'll left. I got worried, is all." The farm girl admitted. Erin, looked surprised to say the least.

"Seriously?" She spoke in a hushed gasp, looking as though she was about to cry. "Our friendship really means that much to you?!" Nellarose nodded.

Almost robotically, Erin's face grew empty. She'd never had a friend before-how was she supposed to feel about this new development? She silently held her breath, concealing the emotion and tears as if they were truly her last. Though she was unsure just why this was, for some reason there was nothing more gratifying, than hearing Nellarose reaffirm just how deeply she cared. It was a sensation the lone assassin wasn't all too familiar with-and one that she desperately needed to feel.

Pretending to have an itchy nose, Erin swiftly wiped away a single tear from her eye. She then bit her lip, and smiled half-heartedly up at Nellarose.

"Hey, you wanna see something cool?"

"Sure," Nellarose agreed, though she was still pretty worried.

Erin stood up off the floor and dusted herself off, taking care not to step on Stinky's tail as she traversed the small room. Once she reached the back wall, she pressed her palm against a concealed wooden switch. Nellarose gasped as she watched a good portion of the assassin's back wall slide in on itself, revealing a dark alcove just beyond. Erin looked over her shoulder and smirked, motioning for Nellarose to follow her into the passage.

"Come on. I wanna show you a secret."

***

Nellarose had expected to see just about anything within that hidden room. A horde of illegal weaponry, or a stash of spice and opium perhaps. None of these, could have been further from that which met her gaze. The inside of the small 6x9 hideaway, was decorated with the concentrated talent of a most creative mind. A waterworn table splattered in paint of diversified dark hues served as the central fixture for the hidden studio.

Atop it, sat several assorted mechanical tools, including wire cutters, several screwdrivers of varying lengths and heads, and a few stray gears and bolts. There was also an unfinished, rather frightening little gadget, resembling a pistol with a retractable dagger at the blunt end. There were many other creations crammed together against the side walls wherever they would fit, all in various stages of completion.

But these intriguing instances of tinkering weren't what caused the Grower girl's eyes to widen in sheer awe. For framing all of these inventions, were thousands upon thousands of incredibly glorious paintings.

"I'm sorta an inventor. And an artist, I guess." Erin pawed at her long black bangs nervously. Nellarose, was far from critical.

"Sorta?! Erin, these are magnificent!"

"Pfft, yeah right," the assassin rolled her eyes, "they're no Montonessi or H.P. Streuton."

Nellarose slowly shook her head, appalled by the insults her friend was freely spewing at such glorious works of art. Most of the paintings seemed to depict a hooded man, but there were also those of tall towers, dragons, and even the occasional artistic nude. These former pieces, almost caused the innocent teen to blush.

"I just don't get it. If you can make all of these gadgets, and paint like _this_..."

"Yeah?" Erin crooked an eyebrow, crossing her frail arms. "What are you getting at, kiddo?"

Nellarose finally spun around on her heel, and looked Erin dead in the eyes.

"You speak of Montonessi and H.P. Streuton, as if they are somehow better than you. But in all honesty, I think you could easily have em' on the ropes-should you start doing this sort of thing professionally."

Erin just stared at her, absolutely astonished. Then, she burst out laughing.

"Oh! That's a good one, Nellarose! To think some assassin and her half-assed shit to canvas could ever even compare with the likes of real artists!" Her face grew uncomfortably dark. "There's a reason I'm a killer for hire kid. It's all I'm really good at. Art and tinkering-those are just hobbies."

"But I really mean it!" the farm girl protested. "I think you have what it takes to be as great as they are!"

Erin's eyes went wide again, the whites of her eyes creating a striking contrast against her black eyeshadow and mascara. Little Nellarose, never let up. Her words were so passionate, her posture trembling with intensity.

"You have so much talent Erin; not just as an assassin. You can do anything you want to!"

"Kid, listen...I...I don't think you understand what's really going on here..."

"What? What's the matter?!"

Erin sighed, starting to think that maybe bringing Nellarose here was a really bad idea. This girl didn't know anything about the real world-not the way she did. Sheltered under the simplicities of country life, Erin knew the teenager didn't know The City and it's unending torment. Even with Heleana and her insidious blood harvesting factories now nothing but a bitter memory, this dystopian world of smog and stone still continued to suck the life energy from all who dwelled within.

Even the nobles were no longer impervious to it's demands, as many were now seeing just how nasty an underprivileged low class could truly be. The exploits of the One-Eyed Pirate Queen had started an uprising against them, though Gwenevere and her gang were neither supportive, nor directly responsible for the carnage therein.

Nevertheless, this city was a bloody, unforgiving place. Art and creativity, had no place within it's walls.

"Look Nellarose," Erin began, directing her index finger upwards.

It held on a painting of a forest cottage, embellished with thousands of vibrant flowers. While Erin's medium consisted of mainly darker colors-and rather morbid themes-this masterpiece was an absolute explosion of joy and delight. Nellarose's face lit up the moment she spotted where the assassin was pointing.

"It's...magnificent..."

"It's also not mine. It was painted by a true artist, someone who could actually have been great," Erin winced, squeezing her eyes shut. "Yet, even she couldn't make it here. That's why she became a killer...just like me."

"Just like you?" The Grower inquired, looking nervous. "What do you mean?"

"The artist in question, was called Nessa. Her real name was Vanessa, but she always hated it," the dark-haired punk chuckled. "She's the one who taught me to paint. Taught me to kill."

"Is that so? Well, what happened to her? Why is her painting in your gallery?"

Erin grew somber. Not quite forlorn enough to cry-she'd already shed all the tears she could muster for that beautiful and talented woman. Instead, she ran her hands up through her short, messy hair.

"She wanted me to have it, if anything happened to her. And it did," the resolute loner confirmed. "She was cut down. We used to go on missions together, especially for the big fish. But, word of the hit had somehow reached them, and the target in question had hired their own assassins for protection. Before I could reach her, they slit her throat."

Nellarose listened intently, feeling for the broken woman beside her. She couldn't recall the night of the Pagan genocide, couldn't really remember what it felt like to loose someone close to her. Ayeena obviously did, but she was always so collected about it. The Grower teen honestly had no comprehension of the agony Erin was experiencing at that moment. But regardless, she tried her best to offer whatever solace she could muster.

"I'm...sorry," she faintly cooed.

Erin nodded, more or less even listening to her condolences as images of Nessa and the precious memories they had forged together raced across her mind like a teasing gale. After leaving Garrett's side and joining the underworld stables, Nessa had been the one to take Erin under her wing, nurturing her budding independence, and assisting her every step of the way. She'd saved her life on more than one occasion, even going as far as to keep Ross and Bernard off her case when things didn't go according to plan. And yet, when the time came for Erin to repay such generosity, she had failed.

It was beginning to hurt now, so much that Erin actually starting wishing that Nellarose would just leave. But the young girl remained, complacent and supportive as ever.

"Erin..."

"Look. This was a stupid idea. I'm so sorry you ever got mixed up with a bad girl like me," the assassin finally muttered.

"Huh?" Nellarose looked unmistakably hurt and confused.

"I just...look. I like you a lot kid. But..."

Nellarose came up and placed a soft hand on Erin's stiff shoulder. They stared into each other's eyes, the farm girl smiling reassuringly up at her dangerous killer of a friend.

"I knew you were trouble from the start. That doesn't matter. You're still my best friend Erin. Nothing can ever change that."

Erin opened her mouth to argue, but all that came out was a dull gasp. Nellarose shook her head.

"You really are a strange one, Erin," she chuckled.

The assassin managed to nod somehow, completely in a daze of surprise and painful memories by this point. Perhaps that's why she didn't hear the Enforcer slip through her bedroom window. Stinky lazily lifted her head away from the waterlogged plank she had been sucking on for its delicious mold. Her orange reptilian eyes fell upon a tall, imposing shadow on the opposite side of the dwelling. Nellarose nearly leapt out of her skin as Sandris's determined voice rang out.

"Nellarose. It is time to go."

The farm girl looked back at her friend, and frowned.

"Looks like dad's found me. I better go back," she managed sadly.

"Yeah...I know how _that_ is..." Erin accepted.

Stinky remained complacent upon the floorboards, refusing to get up even when Nellarose began tugging on her leash.

"Come on girl!"

"Ya know, maybe you should just leave her here," Erin suggested, remembering the burrick's rescue the night before. Nellarose was visibly surprised, but she knew better than to argue with her strong-willed friend.

"Alrighty! See ya around Erin. Stinky."

Erin watched with a twisted stomach as Nellarose and Sandris exited through the same window. She looked back at her new houseguest, and tried to force a smile. But it was useless.  
_  
Well, at least if Ross and Bernard send their thugs after me again, I'll be ready..._

_***  
_**LATER THAT WEEK:**__

Taking a break from his usual afternoon drinking and brooding, the Master Thief made his way down into Skinmarket. Entering through the water-worn emergency exit, he brushed a string of cobwebs from his hood and sneered. Tension gripped his every vein, as Garrett made his way through the labyrinth of crates and debris that was her hideout. However it had occurred, the fact remained unchanged-a full two weeks had passed since his venture to Mystic Manor. Garrett needed to make sure that his ward was alright-more importantly, he needed to make sure that she knew he was alive.

Erin's plan, as usual, was only half-formed. Because it wasn't a bald-headed ruffian who came calling to her humble shack only mere hours following Nellarose's departure-but rather, Garrett. The first clue she was given to her stealthy guardian's unannounced visit, was an agitated holler. Garrett never displayed outward fear-at least in front of her. Whenever the thief was unnerved or surprised by something, he always acted in callous annoyance.

"What the taff?!" she heard him exclaim.

The sound was like a melody of pure serenity-even though the cynical man in question was clearly highly flustered. Erin allowed the wave of tension she'd been carrying to ease away from her person. Replaced with an all-encompassing warmth and relief, the assassin made her way out into the open with a wide, teary smile spread across her face. He was alright.

Stinky however, did not take too calmly to this loud outburst. Panting and groaning, she padded towards the exasperated man, and prepared to release a noxious belch squarely into his face. Erin sprinted forward, and rammed her elbow down onto the burrick's snout, slamming it's toothless maw shut before this could happen. She looked up at her father with an embarrassed expression.

"Umm, hi?" she poked her tongue out playfully, while Stinky snorted at Garrett in frustration. He was far from amused.

"What the hell are you doing with a burrick Erin?! Didn't you say someone was going to buy this thing offa you?!"

"Yeeesss...but...well," she flushed a brilliant red. "Well, I couldn't..." Garrett scoffed, looking absentmindedly around at the deplorable little room.

"Serves you right. This is why you never take anything weird, unless you have a buyer lined up already. You might not be able to get rid of it." Erin, understandably took umbrage at that statement. She'd thought him dead-this attitude was the last thing she needed to hear right now.

"Uh, two things. One. I DID have a buyer-the egg just hatched prematurely, and she imprinted on me instead. Two: I don't _want_ to get rid of her Garrett."

"WHAT?!" he gawked. Erin smiled and rubbed her cheek against the scaly skin of her new pet.

"Well I mean, sure! At first I didn't know what to do with her. But turns out that she's really sweet and useful. She eats mold and mushrooms, so my place won't smell like dank piss for much longer."

"That sounds like something Gwenevere would say-minus the part about dank piss," the thief groused. "Besides, you could always just fix your blasted roof so the rain doesn't drench your place every time it storms. Or you know? Tidy up a bit?"

"Tch, this place is a lost cause," Erin blew on her bangs again.

"A lost cause, that YOU have to live with kid," Garrett continued. "I raised you better than this-what's with this strange wanting a pet all of a sudden anyway?"

He sat down at his usual place on the bed, cringing slightly at the dampness. That hole in her roof wasn't getting smaller. Erin released Stinky, and after giving the creature a long look, she made her way over to the stove.

"You hungry? Thirsty?"

"Just whatever you've got on hand is fine kid," Garrett replied.

Erin fished a half-empty platter of meat pie out from under the small stove. She offered the burnt, moldy thing to Garrett with a joking smirk.

"Anything but _that_."

"Fair enough. I got to see you cringe, so I've had my fun," Erin chuckled warmly. She handed the thief a fresh apple. "Here ya go!"

Garrett greedily devoured the morsel, leaving the young woman wondering as to when his last meal had actually been.

"Uh, you okay?" she inquired.

"Yeah. I've just been too busy to eat lately. Work's been more of a challenge, ever since the vigilantes started muscling in on my turf."

"You mean Gwenevere and her Merry Thugs?" Erin smiled, tidying up her kitchen area a bit. Garrett raised an eyebrow.

"Is_ that_ what she calls it?!" he was completely speechless.

Gwenevere had done her share of strange things in the past. Being a nymph, she had no idea what normal humans were supposed to do, or how they acted. This often led to downright odd behavior on her part, as she tried and failed to mimic their every day actions. But naming her little group after the gang in "Robber Hood"...now that was new!

"Taff...I think she likes that book more than I do..." he grumbled.

Erin smirked, as she continued to clean her home. Garrett finished his apple, and stood.

"Here. Let me help you," he offered, tossing his apple core out the window. Erin smiled.

"Sure. Just don't go throwing all of my junk out."

The thief shook his head, but complied with assisting her. Most of the 'junk' she had laying around was expected. Old newspapers, wrappers from old meals, a few broken bottles. Perhaps this was why the deep red colors first drew his keen eye. More out of instinct than actual interest, Garrett approached the object, and pulled it out of the pile of strewn blankets and clothing. Immediately, his hand quivered and he dropped the garment to the moist floorboards.

It turned out to be a skirt and a top much like the pair his Gwenevere used to wear, when she had first come under his instruction. Only this pair was a menacing dark red with black lace. There were also a few jet black hair extensions, emblazoned with faux garnets, and silk ribbons. The thief felt his heart drop into his stomach.  
While sweet little Gwenevere had once thought such garments pretty out of a senseless naivety, Garrett _knew_ his Erin wasn't into clothes in the first place. Even if she was, the assassin knew better than to wear a harlot's corset and skirt as a fashion statement. There was only one other option, as far as he was concerned.

"What the hell is this?!" he demanded, with the stern gaze of any concerned father. Erin spun around, nearly tripping over Stinky's outstretched tail. Her blue eyes illuminated with deep shame and remorse.

"That's...not mine..." she tried.

This lie might have very well worked, if not for the fact that Garrett knew full well that she had tried her hand at prostitution before. No matter how often the subject came up, his reaction to it was always the same. Somehow, within the deep recesses of his mind, an image of that half-starved street urchin he had rescued flashed itself into permanence. When he thought of Erin committing these acts for money, it wasn't the foolhardy woman he saw. It was that little girl. That starry eyed child being corrupted and molested for coin. It was enough to make him want to vomit, but the lies she was telling him on top of this, sent the thief's disgust reeling over the edge.

"I taught you to steal..." his voice was barely stable at this point, hot rage causing his tone to resemble that of a madman about to commit his first murder. "I taught you to get money, without resorting to this filth Erin..." as her name exited his mouth, Garrett finally lost it. "I taught you to steal, so you would NEVER have to reduce yourself to a petty whore!"

Erin's mind shattered, as the full momentum of his words struck her with blunt force. She didn't want to do this. She didn't like performing favors for repulsive nobles, or members of the watch. She rued each and every encounter, every visceral second of these encounters. And then there was the show...where she had to perform even more outlandishly for an entire room of these perverts. At least the other harlots worked for Madam Xiao Xiao. After her cut, those blossoms were allowed to keep every filthy cent. Not Erin. Half went directly to the Madam-the rest...straight into Ross and Bernard's pocketbook.

Erin did not want this life...but with her family's welfare now on the line, she had no other choice. Now Garrett was accusing her of the unthinkable...believing that she actually wanted this! Enjoyed this unsavory hell she was forced to endure on a nightly basis. Exasperated, she lashed out.

"It's, not mine! Give it!" Erin snapped, stressing as she ripped the hair accessories from her guardian's grasp. That's when Garrett noticed the brand burnt into her soft flesh.

His face contorted in suspended denial. Fury, did not begin to describe it. He KNEW that Erin would never burn herself, especially with such a shameful mark. No, someone else had done this to his baby. And someone, was going to pay dearly for it. Garrett lowered his head, his unnatural gaze falling to his lying waif.

"I'm only gonna ask you once Erin-who did this to you?"

"No one!" she squirmed, sweat beads forming on her temples like blood from a freshly pricked fingertip.

"Erin, what are you hiding?!" the thief tried again, unwilling to stand for silence. "You know I can help you. I can stop whoever did this to you..." he offered in that gentle, reassuring mutter which only Erin and Gwenevere had ever heard him use.

The assassin looked around frantically, feeling like a cornered beast about to be slain.

"Garrett," she squeezed her eyes tightly closed. "I think you're just projecting. You and Gwenevere have your own little issues right now, so you automatically think I do too. But trust me-it's all in your head."

Her words bit deep, and unlike most instances of Erin's foolhardy nastiness, Garrett failed to conceal the stabbing hurt she had inflicted unto his unguarded heart.

"Well I guess that's what I get for caring," he hissed in a low murmur. Immediately, Erin realized the error of her ill-chosen statement-and just how badly she had wounded him.

"Garrett, wait..." she reached out for her paternal figure, but the thief dodged her touch.

"You know what Erin? You've been telling me for years that you don't need me. Maybe it's time I realized that I don't need you either." Hot electricity tore through her, rendering Erin breathless. "You're a grown woman now. So if you want to whore yourself out to some self-entitled prat, be my guest kid. Glad to see that the last fifteen years of my life was a complete waste."

Erin glared at him. She couldn't hold back her rage. This time, it wasn't his comment that had set her off. It was that his words were indeed true-in her perception. She had always felt like such a burden to Garrett. Everything he had taught her seemed to go ignored, or at best, misused. Using the stealth and lock picking skills he had taught her to mercilessly slaughter her victims for coin. The dexterity and light touch that the patrons of that filthy whore house now found value in. The Master Thief, had granted her a second chance; a blessing. And Erin had squandered every last bit of it.

"Garrett. Wait. I'm sorry, okay?"

"Apologies are cheap Erin. I don't deal with _cheap_," the thief shot back.

An excruciating wound ripped itself open within what was left of Erin's smashed heart. As her beloved guide sneered down at her, she turned her head. The assassin didn't want him to see the hurt expression upon her face, or the shock of realization in her brilliant blue eyes. She kicked a nearby crate with all her might, splintering it apart beneath her heavy leather boots.

"Then maybe you should just leave," she seethed in a bitter, hushed whisper.

Garrett gave her one last, indescribable look, before swooping off out the open window. Cold, soppy rain spat against Erin's face as she watched him exit her life.

_Nice going Erin. Now you've really done it! _


	74. Chapter 74

_How does he get mustard stains on the INSIDE of his shirt?!_

Sophie shook her head. There were some things about her older brother, that she'd be happier not knowing. Big brother in question was across the room, rummaging for something unseen in the shoddy heap of stained planks, and rusty old nails he called a closet. Putting her hands on her hips in a condescending, almost motherly fashion, Sophie looked up from folding the freshly laundered garments and pursed her lips.

"Basso. I have begrudgingly come to accept that after forty-nine years, there is little chance of you ever learning to do your own laundry. But could you at _least_ help me fold and put away your clothes?"

Basso barely heard her griping. His head was now jammed deeply into that dense jungle of dusty blankets, and a forgotten collection of moth-eaten coats now far too tight for his maturing girth. Little feisty sister rolled her eyes, and the tapping of her foot intensified.

"Basso!"

"I heard ya Soph!" The boxman lied, never taking his head out of the closet. "In case ya haven't noticed, Ima little busy at the moment."

Sophie looked down at the burlap sack at her waistline, still two-quarters of the way full with unfolded shirts, trousers, and ragged old things best left to only the most disturbed of imaginations. She wasn't exactly loafing around herself.

"Okay, what did I just say then?" She challenged, knowing full well that he hadn't been paying any attention to her in the slightest. Basso finally withdrew his head, and stared up at her with a grumpy expression. He absolutely_ hated_ it when she got like this.

"Soph, come on now..."

"_What_ did I say Basso?" Sophie demanded.

The boxman sighed, and threw his arms up over his head.

"Alright Soph. Ya got me. I wasn't payin' attention-because I was lookin' fer something very important in my closet!"

"Yes, I noticed. This is precisely why I have to keep an eye on you Basso. You're still the boy you were all those years ago-except HE knew how to put away his own clothes properly!"

"Please get laid Sophie. Seriously...do it. Ye've got to stop tryin' to mother everything." Basso grumbled apathetically. Sophie was noticeably shocked, and blushing wildly. But to his surprise, she didn't try to take a swing at him.

"I'm sorry. I've just been holding onto a lot lately," she apologized, her tone softening tremendously. "I didn't realize my doting had gotten so out of hand." Basso mellowed too, releasing a heavy sigh and walking over to her.

"See sis? This is why ya need a hobby, a..a way to wind down. I don't mean nothing by it, but maybe a nice bloke in yer life wouldn't be such a bad thing-ya know?" he suggested, wrapping his arm lovingly around her shoulder. Sophie smiled at him. It was rare, but on occasion, her older brother did play his part as such.

"Well, I do have someone in my life...but it's...it's not quite that serious," she blushed, twisting at one of the loose strands of brunette that hung down near her ear. Basso seemed genuinely surprised.

"Sophie, really?!" he gawked. "Well, when did this happen?!"

"About six weeks ago. I have a certain gentleman caller over a few days a week for dinner," she admitted, although she knew she couldn't say much more about it. Basso would just have to take it for what it was.

"That's lovely, Soph! Honestly and truly. I'm happy for you," Basso was positively beaming by this point.

"Thank you, dear brother."

The twosome reveled in their shared joy for a few precious moments, allowing their silent yet very meaningful sentiments to be conveyed. When the situation grew too awkward and embarrassing for Sophie's liking, she decided to change the subject.

"Um, so! What were you looking for in that dusty old closet, huh?"

It took a moment for the boxman to register on just what she was asking-he'd been completely bowled over by the news of his little sister courting again after almost fifteen years.

"Oh! Uh, I was just looking for an old reference guide fer Gwennie. It had a bunch of hand-drawn maps in there from various sources."

"Maps?" Sophie looked puzzled. "What sort of maps?"

"Well, ta nobles homes, criminal hideouts-that sorta thing. Taff, there's even one fer the bear pits-not that I suspect it'll come in handy or nothing," he chuckled.

"That's very generous of you Basso," Sophie smiled thoughtfully. "But wouldn't it just be easier if say, Garrett drew out some maps for her? After all, if this reference guide is so well-hidden in the back of your closet, I can't imagine that those maps are very accurate anymore."

She had no intention of breaking her promise to Garrett. Gwenevere had to understand that the thief had only dismissed her for her own safety, and Sophie wasn't about to allow them to stay apart due to a misunderstanding. Sophie grinned in spite of herself. It seemed that the Black Alley Angel, was getting demoted to the Black Alley Matchmaker in her later years.

"Yeah?" Basso's eyes narrowed. "Well last time I checked, Garrett was being a royal arsebucket!"

Sophie cringed. In the hastiness of her devotion, she had nearly forgotten that Basso wasn't all-too fond of the antisocial moonlighter at the moment either.

"Well, I'm not giving up on them yet. This has happened before, and by the gods, it'll happen again in the future. All great couples have their tiffs-it's an unavoidable part of being close to someone. But there are two sides to every coin, Basso. Even one as juxtaposed as those two."

***

_Monday, February 21st,_

_It has been three years now, since I first chanced upon that starving youth in that blackened street. His eyes were so cold and empty back then-as if the filth of the world had ravaged every corner of his innocence away. His family murdered, his hopes and happiness along with them. Lost alone in an unforgiving world of twisted lies, and shattered dreams. But perhaps-in hindsight-this has made him stronger. Some people manage to get through this life without being touched, hurt. Or most importantly, challenged. But I truly believe that such tribulations are inevitably necessary in order to build our character, and to further shape our souls.  
What happened to that boy was awful. Inexcusable. But time and time again, Garrett has proven himself a most astute character. He never cringes in the face of adversity; and he never quits. He is as dedicated to bettering himself, as I am. Perhaps this is merely a simple hidden gratitude that he is displaying. After all, I very well saved his life on that blustery February morn. But perhaps, it is a little bit more than that.  
Perhaps, it was not pity-as so many of my fellows have accused-but promise, that I felt when I stared downward at that tenacious, starry-eyed boy. Even as I write this, he continues to better himself in ways that even I could never have predicted. Though my heart still wanders to those dark places in my mind, and my persistent concerns are never far behind; I still see such promise. Nothing worthwhile is ever easy. Thus, I shall continue to do my best in shaping this forgotten waif into something truly magnificent. So long as Garrett is willing, so too am I._

_No. Even if he ceases to listen to my instruction, even if he fails in every possible sense of the word. Even then, I promise I shall stand by, willing to aid him from the darkest of shadows. For when all is said and done, I am all that boy has left._

_-Keeper Artemus_

***

**KEEPER MCCLAY'S HIDEOUT:**

"Bes still movers too slow!" Ayeena screeched her instructions like a hungry bird, watching as Gwenevere nearly toppled forward as she leapt and pirouetted in the heat of combat.

If an outsider were to observe the Pagan woman now, they would never guess that those fleet-footed legs were not her own. They moved in harmonious tandem with the rest of her form, granting her a speed and agility indifferent to that of a wild deer.

"Bes rememberings, woodsie one," Ayeena panted, "Knife fight bes not about getters in too close-it bes about staying out of thems way."

Gwenevere nodded, trying to keep that in mind as she continued to duck and dodge Ayeena's strikes with the ink-dipped spoon she was using. The Pagan had made it perfectly clear, that if Gwenevere got any ink on her, it would count as blood. Her previous teacher had obviously taught her a great deal of agility and pacing; and this was part of the problem. Gwenevere was moving far too cautiously. Her movements were hesitant and heavy, rather than quick and precise.

"Movers more swiftly, and keepers your body behind thems dagger!"

Gwenevere was sweating now, the liquid more reminiscent of rain than saline. She was trying her hardest, but this new technique seemingly went against all of the detached pacifism Garrett had been instilling within her for nearly a year. Dueling was more aggressive, and instead of taking her precious time and patience, the nymph was expected to be fast, and outgoing. She tripped, as Ayeena took a limber side-step backwards. Gwenevere gasped, as she felt the wooden spoon slip from her sweltering palms. Ayeena ceased the battle, and retrieved it.

"Sorry..." Gwenevere's face flushed in embarrassment.

"Bes more careful, woodsie child! The absolute last thing you bes wanters to do, is losers your knife Gwenevere. Defenders yourself against thems attackers bes extremely difficult, without it," she reached down and tapped her ink-coated spoon against Gwenevere's chest.

There was a moment of sickening realization exchanged between the two old friends, and the little nymph shuddered. If that had of been a real blade, and Ayeena a real enemy, Gwenevere would have been killed instantly.

"I-I think I see now," Gwenevere gulped, taking hold of Ayeena's hand.

"You bes getters better. You bes getters there in time," Ayeena smiled proudly. She was proving to be quite the teacher, but she knew the credit wasn't hers alone.

Whoever this Garrett was, he had certainly taught the nymph a thing or two.

"So, this is the proper way to fight with a dagger then?" Gwenevere inquired.

"Bes true. But you bes still movers too slow when you bes avoiders my attack. You also bes getters too desperate to attackers sometimes. Then, you bes getters clumsy."

Gwenevere gulped, and a tight lump took form in her throat. She understood that Ayeena was only trying to offer helpful advice, but still...it somehow made her feel like she was doing something very wrong. Like she would never get it in time.

Her magic was fading with every passing moment, and Gwenevere had been steadily coming to terms with that dreadful truth. In less than a fortnight, she would become an anomaly-and some would say, a great disappointment. The Last Mother, a demi-goddess which had been as thoughtfully planned and finely-tuned as any Mechanist device, had already been rendered mortal by an ancient god's blade. And soon, the nymph would loose the only trait which marked her as one of the fabled Trickster's Maidens-magic.

A nymph without magic, was little more than a feral humanoid with green flesh, and a terrible temper. But above all else that she was about to lose, Gwenevere feared the return of her true form the most. Despite what Garrett had told her, she despised it. Simmons had made sure of that, constantly drawing as much negative attention and fear to her as he could muster, whenever Gwenevere had revealed her true self in front of his staff. Hence, she had taken to concealing all of that 'ugliness' away within herself.

Gwenevere, was quite possibly the first nymph in existence who actually loved the way being human made her feel. The others always felt restricted by their disguise, and some were even afraid of it. Her mother had only wore it out of necessity, and she had cooed and pleaded to Gwenevere to do the same.

_It is necessary to survive, dear kit. The manfools would just as readily chop us to pieces like tinder if they knew._

But her mother didn't understand the good parts of humanity, as Gwenevere did. Viktoria couldn't relate to the elation one felt from eating chocolate, or having a surprise birthday party thrown in their honor. She hadn't felt pure and absolute love for mancreatures, the way her seedling did. She tended to and cared for all Pagans, yes. But the Woodsie Queen had never truly managed to grasp empathy.

"Ayeena. Am I at least getting better?" Gwenevere hoped, tapping the wooden spoon against her chin lightly.

"Yes. But we bes still havers a longsie way to goes," the Pagan replied, taking a seat upon the bed.

She smoothed the sheets and patted at the spot beside her, looking up at her best friend with a genuine smile. Gwenevere was just about to take a much-deserved rest, when a loud wail echoed from somewhere down the tunnel. Turning around, the nymph glowered in the direction of the cracked doorway. But it wasn't a threat that came barging into view, nor an injured member of her gang. It was Tobias and Timothy Woksworth-and from the looks of it, they were pretty angry at one another.

"As Keeper Mcclay's squire, it is _my_ duty to inform his guests of such matters!" Tobias whined, trying to tug something unseen away from the blonde-haired young man.

"Yes, but _I_ am a professional attorney. No one knows the value of a letter delivered post haste better than myself!"

"Ugh! You are our _guest_, hence you must sit quietly and allow_ me_ to deliver this letter to Gwenevere!" Tobias protested again, crumbling the sleeves of his robes as he pushed Woksworth backwards. The attorney rose to his feet, a vicious disbelief present in his every feature.

It was clear that he had never expected the wimpy little Keeper acolyte to get so aggressive.

"You are lucky, by the Builder, that I don't intend to sue you for endangering my person just now," he warned with a huff. "Now. As you are no doubt aware, I am associated most closely with Madam Taffer. This letter is the sole property of my client, and must be delivered by either the Dayport Postal System, or her entrusted attorney-that being myself, of course! Therefore you are in direct violation of section 3204 of Baron Northcrest the First's regal agenda pertaining to deliveries and important business inquiries, which clearly states-"

"-Oh poo to you and all of your legal tomtaffery!" Tobias squawked again, revealing to Gwenevere that it had indeed been he who had emitted that squeaky wail moments before. The young woman stepped forward, having seen and heard enough.

"Hey guys? Why are you fighting?" She asked, craning her head to the side. Her long red ponytail overlapped her left shoulder, and her lips parted ever so slightly in concern.

Timothy Woksworth, was the first to speak. He cleared his throat, and with a final leer in Tobias's direction, gently removed the creased and bent envelope from his coat pocket.

"M'lady Gwenevere! A letter arrived at the Crippled Burrick for you!"

Gwenevere stepped forward, and looked the two young men over in astounded disbelief.

"THAT was what had you both up in a tizzy?!" She smirked, looking just the slightest bit bemused.

Both men blushed, before exchanging sheepish, apologetic looks. Now that she put it that way, it did seem just the slightest bit foolish.

"I-I only wanted to deliver it first, b-because I thought it m-might be from Erin..." Tobias admitted. Gwenevere smiled.

"Tobias, I will let you know just as soon as I either see or hear from Erin, okay?"

"Y-yes mum!" The robed squire nodded, blushing even more. Gwenevere turned her attention to Woksworth, who graciously handed her the letter in question.  
The first thing she noticed, was that the seal had been broken, and then crudely re-sealed with a light yellow wax. The little nymph frowned.

"This message might have been intercepted. I'd better take a look, and then report this to Derick Garrison and Keyper Mcclay forthwith," she murmured.

"An astute plan, m'lady," Woksworth nodded, his eyes closed. Tobias sighed, knowing full well that the attorney had a well-deserved reputation as a schmoozer.  
Regardless of the disrupted contents, Gwenevere tore open the envelope a second time, and began reading:  
_  
To The One-Eyed Pirate Queen, and all those associated with her deeds,  
I Cannot tell you who I Am, or even where I live. But know that I deSperaTly requIre your hElp. You should be abLe to find me, if you are indeed cLever. If not, then I fear that all hope is Already lost._

Gwenevere read the note over several times, and frowned. Was this all there was?

"It sounds like someone's in real trouble, but they must not feel comfortable telling us who they are," she explained to her concerned friends.

"I don't understand. Why contact you at all, if they aren't willing to even tell you that?!" Woksworth fumed, feeling even more shameful, now that the letter wasn't even worth all the fighting and trouble it had caused.

"I don't think they can," Gwenevere added. "And from the sound of what they did manage to convey, it sounds as though someone is in real trouble."

All four exchanged worried faces, Gwenevere's eyes once again drifting back down to the parchment she still held in her quivering hands.  
_  
There MUST be something more..._ she argued against her own mind, as she began desperately inspecting the note for any sort of clue. It didn't take her long to find one.

Rushing away to Ayeena's bedside table, Gwenevere grabbed up a half-eaten slice of cherry pie, and dipped her finger into the crimson cherry mixture. The others all watched in bizarre fascination, as the nymph began to crudely write out large burgundy letters towards the bottom of the note.

"C-A-S-T-E-L-L- annnd...A..." she mumbled, licking her finger clean. Gwenevere stared down at the word she had written. Castella. What did that mean? Ayeena noticed it too, and her expression reflected the nymph's positive befuddlement.

"Ah! It's a secret code!" Woksworth suddenly cheered, almost leaping up from excitement. Everyone faced him, and he eagerly continued. "Castella, could very well be the name of the person who sent the letter!"

Gwenevere thought for a moment, trying to remember if she'd ever heard the name anywhere before.

"Woksworth? Did Basso give you this note?"

"Why yes! Same as always, actually! That fellow handles all of your post after all, does he not?"

Gwenevere gasped and sprang for her rabbit fur pouch, which was loaded to the brim with freshly constructed spore grenades. Her ponytail bobbed in the process, as she darted towards the door.

"I'm going out!" was all she called, leaving the others in a perplexed stupor.


	75. Chapter 75

Sophie had just finished folding the last patchy garment, when Gwenevere came bursting through the doorway of the hovel.

"Basso! I need to speak with you!" she exclaimed, still panting from her bout of vigorous running.

"Christ kid! Don't get yer ponytail in a knot," the boxman chuckled, pulling himself free of his chair. He approached the flustered nymph, and straightened his top hat. "Now. What do ya need to talk to uncle Basso about, eh?" He grinned.

Gwenevere was still at a loss for breath, her eyes wide with an intensity Sophie hadn't seen all too often in her features. This, immediately set her mind to concerned mother mode.

"Sweetheart, what happened?" Sophie demanded, rather gently. She approached the little nymph, visibly unnerved by her constant panting and quivering. Noticing how worried both Basso and his sister were, Gwenevere fought to compose herself. It wasn't easy.

Someone out there, was in such danger, that they had to call for help via a secret message. Gwenevere _knew_ she couldn't fail them!

_Focus on the people. It's all about the people..._

After repeating her slightly altered version of Garrett's mantra for a few moments, she took a deep lungful of stuffy bachelor air, and faced the siblings with a firm grimace fastened across her delicate face.

"I received a letter from my friends earlier today. It spoke of a Castella-and it sounded like they were in a lot of trouble. Do you know of any Castellas Basso?" The boxman acquired a guilty look upon his somber face. Sophie noticed this, and frowned.

"Basso?" she called upon him as if he were a small boy caught in a lie. "What's that face? Do you know something?"

"Eh-heh-heh, you...could say that," Basso released an uncomfortable laugh, followed by an incredibly awkward smile.

"Well?" Sophie prodded. That sent her brother back into his seat. He began twiddling his thumbs.

"I...sorta peeked at the letter," he admitted. Making eye contact with Gwenevere, his face grew guilty again. "Sorry kid."

Both Gwenevere and Sophie, were noticeably outraged.

"Basso?! Why would you do such a thing?" Sophie retorted, far more enraged than the nymph. While Gwenevere was indeed both shocked and angry, she was far more curious as to why her trusted friend would do such a thing.

"Basso. How could you?" Was all she could manage. The boxman sighed hard, looking down at his feet.

"I noticed that there wasn't any return address, alright? Forgive this old taffer if he got just the slightest bit suspicious and er...overprotective..." he muttered, clearly very embarrassed.

Sophie smiled empathetically. Silently, she understood why he had intercepted the letter-and she knew that in his shoes, she would have done the same thing. Gwenevere glanced around the room, her eyes locking onto the stubby light yellow candle that the boxman always kept atop his desk. She grinned mischievously.

"Yellow wax...oh, I get it now!" Before he could react, Basso found that he had been pinned back into his seat by one of Gwenevere's famously overpowering hugs. He felt his body relax, and he slowly hugged her back.

"Hey there, easy does it kid," he smiled.

"You really are such a great guy Basso," Gwenevere sniffed. Sophie watched on, shaking her head ever so slightly.

"So, my brother dearest, did the letter have anything in it to validate this tampering of yours, hmmm?" Sophie crossed her arms.

Gwenevere still wrapped around his neck, Basso made a face at his sister.

"Well, Castella, Soph. Need I say more?" he sneered.

"What about the Castellas?" Sophie asked grimly. Gwenevere finally released the boxman from her clutches, and cocked her head at him.

"You mean there's more than one of them?" She asked.

"Well, yes sweetie," Sophie smiled lovingly. "They're a family. A rich and powerful one at that."

"Which is exactly why I feel justified in pokin' through her letter!" Basso groused. Gloria cawed as he once again stood from his squeaky wooden chair. Making his way back over to his closet again, Basso resumed the searching he'd been doing earlier that day.

"Basso?" Gwenevere craned her head to the other side this time.

"Ah-ha! Found'ja you cheeky little bugger!" The boxman guffawed, pulling out a faded and torn small book. He slammed it down onto his desk, sending dust scattering in all directions. Basso opened the volume, and flipped through a few yellowed pages, before his finger came to rest on a rather large manor layout.

"That, be the Castella Mansion in Dayport. Course, this map is almost ten years old, so they might have changed a few things. Torn down a few birdbaths, added a study 'er two, ya know?"

Gwenevere leaned over the book, studying the map very closely. Sophie approached, and placed a concerned palm on the nymph's shoulder.

"Sweetie? Is everything okay?"

"Yes. I'm just wondering if I even need a map," she responded.

"What?!" The siblings shouted in unison. Gwenevere looked from Sophie to Basso, then blinked.

"What?" She shrugged. Sophie was the one to answer, her face pale and disbelieving.

"Gwenevere. You need a map, dear. You can't just go waltzing in by the front door," she joked. Gwenevere was not amused.

"Well, why not? They called out to me for help. I see no need to encroach on their privacy, when they invited me!"

"Maybe because, this is startin' ta sound a bit like a trap, Gwennie?" Basso raised an eyebrow at her words.

"I-I'm not so sure of that. It sounded more to me like someone was really desperate!"

"Yeah, desperate to collect the bounty on yer head!" Basso countered, his tone growing harsh.

"I'll be fine, Basso. I'm taking Derick Garrison with me, just to be safe," Gwenevere argued, staring him down. It was indeed amusing, since she was quite a bit shorter than the scraggly pauper.

"What the hell is he gonna do?! One Hammerite ain't gonna be enough ta protect ya from an ambush, kiddo," the boxman reasoned.

Gwenevere mulled over that statement for several seconds. It was true-this could very well be a trap. But if someone was in so much danger, what choice did she really have in the end? Even if Gwenevere brought along her entire band of merry thugs, they would still be outnumbered in such a scenario. The nymph gave a decisive nod, and began to smile.

If someone was in trouble, this was a risk that _needed_ to be taken.

"Thank you-to both of you. But this is something that I vowed to do. I promised that I would help everyone in this city who needed me. If someone needs me, I have to go. I have to try."

Sophie stood firm, but couldn't help but notice the maturity and dedication brimming within Gwenevere's woodsie green eyes. Taking a deep breath, she cleared her thoughts, and did her best to banish all concerns.

"Gwenevere," she began, "you're absolutely right."

"Sophie..." Basso started, his jaw hanging open. His younger sister faced him.

"When I was the Black Alley Angel, I had to take chances too. I had to risk my life in order to protect and save the lives of those I cared for the most. That is the call of all vigilantes. The wolves and danger are always a constant-always gnawing and snarling at our backs in the darkest of hours. But if we don't take these risks...if we don't fight for what is right...who will?"

Both Basso and Gwenevere were visibly touched by her proclamation. Gwenevere bit her lip as a few tears began to congregate within the corners of her wide eyes. Sophie had always accepted her, always understood her. Although she did not realize it, Sophie had become an inspiration to the young nymph. A wise matriarch who held both comfort and answers when Gwenevere was at her most vulnerable and clueless.

"I have so much faith in you, Gwenevere. I would never have passed down my old dagger if I didn't think you had what it took to succeed me."

"Thank you, Sophie. Thank you for believing in me," the little nymph nodded, her face brimming with pride.

"Oh, by the way..." Sophie began, her tone suddenly light and jovial again. "I was wondering-when was the last time you spoke to Garrett?"

Both Basso and Gwenevere acquired disconcerted expressions upon their unsuspecting faces.

"Sophie?! What the taff-" Basso began. A dark glare from his sister, silenced him however.

"Sophie? W-why would you ask that?" Gwenevere stammered.

"Because dear. It's important that you understand why he did what he did," Sophie encouraged the young vigilante to keep an open mind.

"I do," the nymph snarled. "He's a selfish taffing jerk!" Sophie gaped at her words, and Basso couldn't help but snicker in spite of his better judgement.

"Gwenevere, don't say such things! He thinks the world of you!" Sophie hollered, her eyes wide and desperate.

"Then why did he send me away?!" Gwenevere cried out, the tears leaving her eyes as thick as blood. "Why did he leave me?!"

"He didn't leave you Gwenevere-you, left _him_. If I know the story correctly, you ran off into the forest the night he dismissed you as an apprentice. He didn't want to be rid of you, Gwenevere. He just didn't want you risking your neck out there anymore. Maybe he butchered the wording, as per usual dear, but trust me-Garrett was honestly and truly just trying to do right by you in his own way."

Gwenevere just glowered up at the boxman's sister. A part of her didn't want to believe this truth, and another part of her longed to with all of her soul. But above all else, Gwenevere didn't want to be hurt again. And she knew that seeing Garrett, in any case, would result in just that. She had her cause now, and with the seeds growing ever faster, the nymph vigilante didn't think she had time for such dalliances with a thief anymore. In truth, Gwenevere was avoiding Garrett, in order to focus fully on her work. It pained her to do so, but it was necessary. He, had taught her so.

"That's probably the case," she began, "but Garrett has to understand that I have my own purpose now. I'm not just his possession anymore. I have an obligation to The City, Sophie!"

"Yes, I understand that dear. But don't you think that Garrett should be the one to hear this?" Sophie countered.

Gwenevere cleared her throat, mulling over these words for a moment.

"I'll talk to him then-after, I finish helping whoever sent that letter."

Sophie frowned. It was at least something, but Gwenevere's words troubled her deeply. It seemed to the older woman, that Gwenevere was growing stoic and cold-unnaturally so. The nymph she knew, was quick to forgive. If this was all just a simple misunderstanding, why was Gwenevere holding so passionately to that grudge?

"That's all I ask, dear. Thank you," Sophie smiled.

"Tell him I'll meet him at the bell tower in three days," the vigilante instructed coldly.

"Of course dear. I think he'll be happy to hear that."

Years later, the nymph would never be able to understand, nor pinpoint just what had prompted her next actions. Such decisions were as spontaneous as nature-and just as beautiful. Taking a hesitant little step forward, Gwenevere reached out for Sophie's hand and stared up into her with a pleading hopefulness dancing within her green eyes, as fanciful as an enchanted gale.

"Sophie?" she started, her voice hitched and trembling.

"Yes, Gwenevere?"

"Can I call you mom?" The words left her mouth in an almost surreal fashion. Her tongue felt numb as she spoke them, but her heart was true.

Sophie's own eyes grew wide, and breath caught in her frail neck. There were no words for what followed-just actions. The older woman tearfully embraced the orphaned woodsie god-spawn as lovingly as a young child. Sophie shuddered, allowing the tears to finally break free and flow down her face. She had already accepted Gwenevere as her own daughter months ago, but this request somehow validated everything she had felt for that girl. Everything she had done and experienced since Gwenevere had come into her life under such curious circumstances. Wanting to be a thief.

Now, she was so much more than just a petty and greedy criminal. Through her works around The City, Gwenevere had become a beacon of hope and progress. Though she did not realize it, this little being of empathy and love, had become a hero.

"Of course you can, my precious child," Sophie choked on her own words, and she clung even tighter to the nymph.

***  
**  
CASTELLA MANSION  
THREE HOURS LATER:**

It had been a good while since Derick Garrison found himself braying so persistantly upon a noble's door. After his rather uncomfortable meeting with Lady Lilithia months earlier, needless to say the Hammerite wasn't experiencing the best of emotions at that particular moment. But she was there with him, standing as vigilant as any of his brethren. Gwenevere had become his fellow crusader in lieu of those whom he'd left behind. Although she shared very few of his religious beliefs, they were in agreement where it mattered-a desire for change.

Gwenevere had proven herself a reliable and loyal, albeit naïve individual. But her naivety was lessening with each passing day, and it was interwoven with these other virtues, so he didn't allow such flaws to bother him. People weren't wood, and they weren't metal. The Hammerites had taken their beliefs and comparisons to an unrealistic degree, as Derick now realized. If anything, humans were an incredibly unstable material. If the order had taught him anything, it was that the unstable materials required the most patience and time to shape. In hindsight, Derick wondered how such glaring observations had been overlooked by the others for so many centuries. Had they really strayed so far?

While Gwenevere wasn't metal in the slightest, her resemblance to wood would one day render these thoughts uncomfortably ironic. He had no delusions to her own spiritual affinities-Derick was almost completely sure that like Ayeena, this girl was a Pagan supporter. These first impressions of Gwenevere, were underestimated to a ludicrous degree-as the soul-searching Hammerite was soon to discover.

So as they stood there beneath that almost intimidating obsidian archway, the Hammer smiled down at Gwenevere, knowing that he had her back. Derick Garrision, had been an orphan-his brothers at arms, were the closest thing he'd ever had to siblings. But he had never known anything reminiscent of a sister, the way he did now. The Anvils were rarely allowed contact with the armed crusaders-except when necessary. They remained in the cloister, preparing meals and reciting prayer. Hammerites were forbidden from even speaking to any Anvil during their novice period, and were actually subservient to them.

It was a strange and ill-focused hierarchy, in which the women retained little respect-despite their devotion and hard work unto The Builder being equal to that of their crimson-clad male compatriots. Centuries had passed, yet no Anvil had ever been sainted, knighted, or the like. There had never been a Hammerite High Priestess, nor even a simple alter girl. These ancient and highly sexist practices, were yet another unfortunate aspect of the Hammerite faith, which Derick Garrison strived to change.

**_DING-DONG!_** Gwenevere pressed her tiny finger into the door bell again, a soft sigh escaping from her lips.

"Mayhaps the safecracker drunkard was correct. Mayhaps we shouldst have infiltrated thy dwelling," Derick grumbled.

"Derick, I know it's a Hammer thing," Gwenevere hesitated, "but could you please try to refer to my friends and family by their names, rather than their crimes?"

"I shalt try, m'lady."

After several more conflicted and tense moments, a faint whisper called from behind the large oak door like the coo of a frantic dove.

"Are...are you she? T-the One-Eyed Pirate Queen?" The delicate voice was positively seething with desperation. Gwenevere could envision the speaker; quaking and sweltering on the other side of the doorframe. The image made her fearful-eager to help.

"I am. May we come in?" The nymph nodded, trying to sound both serious, and gentle-which wasn't easy.

A brief silence enraptured the quivering words and sobs.

"We? Who is that other person?" The voice piped up after several moments.

"My name is Derick Garrison, ma'am," the Hammerite gave a short yet courteous bow.

"Bluecoats?! NO BLUECOATS!" The voice grew wild and shrill, almost resembling that of a dying animal.

"Miss, please!" Gwenevere tried frantically to calm her, "this is a Hammerite, and he's not even affiliated with the order at the moment!"

More silence, accompanied by loud shudders and whimpering. Eventually, the giant door creaked open. It was almost pitch black inside, save for a dim hallway, lined with dozens of candles. Gwenevere felt as tension and nausea rose within her slender throat. Something wasn't right. Derick Garrison, sensed it too. He stepped out in front of her, a look of intent blazing within his eyes like an infernal forge.

Things were about to get incredibly violent and loud, when a fine-boned woman slunk into view. She was fair, positively beautiful. Her long hair was done up into a neat bun, and it bore the color of burnt honey. Her long ball gown billowed and rippled like a goldfish tail with every step she took, though her large brown eyes remained helpless and terrified. She extended an almost bony hand out in front of her face, as if shielding herself from an unseen threat. At that moment, Derick decided against brandishing his large hammer.

"Please...please forgive my hostility, my odd behavior; everything that has you so wary of me," she stared up into Gwenevere's eyes, her face one of lost hope. "Just please, come in. Do it quickly."

Gwenevere looked up at Derick, who gave her an accepting nod. The nymph pawed at her rabbit fur pouch, readying herself for a swift attack if necessary. The Hammerite wrapped his arm protectively around Gwenevere's upper back, and fist still clenched around his pommel, the two vigilantes entered the Castella Mansion. What awaited them from there, would be nothing short of a most grueling and emotional trial.

***

Upon entering that mansion, Gwenevere was mentally prepared for anything. A trap. A horde of well-armed bluecoats, ready to apprehend the infamous One-Eyed Pirate Queen. Even a bear-bating tap dancer wouldn't have surprised her. What she didn't expect, was a neatly tended den, and a man in absolute shambles sobbing on the sofa. His hair was a stringy, greasy mess-he looked as though he hadn't slept in weeks. Beneath the rigid, furrowing brow, all Gwenevere could make out were his trembling hands as they cradled his sobbing face. He was whimpering and shaking like a beaten dog. The woman from before, motioned in his direction, and tears soon flooded her own eyes.

"This is my husband, Lord Castella. I, am Lady Castella. Forgive our inhospitable greeting, dear. But we aren't of the mind to have guests and pleasantries at the moment."

"What's going on?" Gwenevere asked, half concerned, and half greatly befuddled.

Lady Castella fought to keep her emotions level, as she joined her near-catatonic husband on the sofa. He somehow managed to cease his crying as she put her hand on his knee, allowing Gwenevere to finally see his face. It was just as twisted and forlorn as one might imagine-the disheveled, helpless expression of a man who'd lost all hope.

Gwenevere stepped forward, her bright red hair shaded a deep burgundy by the chilling darkness. The last glimmer of morning light gently flooded in through the stained glass, turning her alabaster skin a light hue of cerulean. Given her first impressions of the place, the Castellas certainly had fine tastes. The area she and Derick now found themselves in was decorated with oil paintings, icy blue silk curtains, and palms growing out of oversized silver pots. There were three large stained glass windows, which covered most of the left wall. A white door stood between the furthest window, and a potted palm.

Every wall was done up in a lavish rococo wallpaper, and the furniture was unlike any other Gwenevere had ever seen in a nobles' home before. Almost twisted; too fancy. An elegant and exotic design, wherein comfort had been evicted in place of aesthetics. First a monolithic domed archway made of pure obsidian-now this. She was truly out of her element, and speaking directly to 'the enemy', only irritated the already fragile situation. Feeling Derick's hand still firmly around her _did _help, but only barely. This was all just too strange. A grown man weeping like a child, and a woman too terrified to even breathe properly.

What exactly was going on within this pretty little palace?!

"I received your letter via my contacts, Miss Castella," Gwenevere began, never taking her eyes off of the forlorn couple, "since your letter was so vague, I must ask-what is it exactly that you want from me?"

Lady Castella gradually made eye contact with the concerned little creature, her breath catching in her throat.

"Forgive me again, miss?" She tried several names out in her mind, but none seemed particularly complimentary.

"Gwenevere. You can call me Gwenevere," the nymph rolled the words off her tongue like sticky toffee. Derick shot her a dubious glance, not entirely comfortable with her reveal. But Gwenevere, appeared content with it.

"F-forgive me, miss Gwenevere. The equivocalness of my message was imperative to the survival of my dear sweet Jeremy," Lady Castella wiped a single, oily tear from the side of her face.

"Your dear sweet Jeremy?" Gwenevere questioned, squinting her eyes in bewilderment.

"Our," Lord Castella corrected in a blubbery voice. It was the first word he had spoken, not just to Gwenevere-but in three days. "Jeremy, is our son. He was kidnapped on his way home from the Auledale Institute for Brilliant Young Men. We...don't know who else to turn to..."

"How do you know your son has been abducted?" Derick asserted himself into the melancholy conversation.

Gwenevere watched as Lady Castella visibly shook. Her hand was shivering so violently, that it nearly knocked the small silver bell from the table as she went to use it. However, she did succeed in ringing for her servant, if only barely. The young vigilante heard a rustle, and twinged in uncertainty as the silver doorknob began to turn. With a click, the door opened and an elderly man walked inside.

"At once, Madam Castella," the butler spoke thoughtfully, as he approached one of the windows with a green watering can and sprinkled the thirsty palm.

Gwenevere noticed that he was missing his left arm; a cybernetic replacement in its place. She fought to keep herself from staring at the unique contraption, although from what she did see, it was clear that the replacement was not of industrial make.

"No Curtis. Leave the plants for another day," Lady Castella corrected, more fear escaping that false and poised expression of hers with every passing second.

Curtis ceased his watering and looked up at her. A near toothless smile graced his wrinkled face when he noticed Gwenevere and her Hammerite comrade.

"Are these to be master Jeremy's saviors then?" he asked, almost amused.

"What is left of him, possibly," Lord Castella croaked, his face turning white. "Bring it in."

The elder's eyes lit up with the first spark of jubilation the dreary household had experienced in quite some time. He nearly groveled over to where Gwenevere was standing, with jaunty, yet almost crippled steps. He stopped just in front of her, and leaned forward. Gwenevere could smell the rather pungent odor of medical ointment and cheap cologne.

"He told me that you'd come! The Cloven Liar-he told me!" He winked at her.

The nymph took a concerned step backwards, pressing her body firmly against her Hammerite bodyguard. Her pupils dilated in abject hysteria at the mention of her father. How had he recognized her as a nymph so easily? And how in The Green had this unassuming little human pinpointed her as one of His? It was impossible-this man was most likely mad, and Gwenevere knew this. Talk of gods and how they spoke to such unworthy simpletons was a common claim amongst the batty. Yet, an icy hand had gripped ahold of the back of her neck, and it told a different story.

She locked eyes with the seemingly deranged butler, trying desperately to decipher if there was more madness or truth behind his lucid stare. His mentality was far too cloudy to tell for sure, but his irises seemed to reflect sincerity. Gwenevere shuddered, wondering just how much power her fallen forebear indeed held from beyond the rift of time and dimensions.

Mad. Perhaps, but perhaps not. While Curtis had indeed identified her truthfully, the little nymph took solace in the fact that his conservative masters would probably never believe such claims. This, was best-for everyone involved. Viktoria had once mentioned that some humans had a special link to the wild world. A gift from the Trickster left over from the days when their ancestors still worshipped him; frolicking and whooping amongst his forests and bonfires without care. She stated that they could no longer remember such a time, but it remained forever locked within them still. And sometimes, it allowed them to see the secrets forbidden to most mortals.

Derick felt the discomforted vibe from her almost immediately, and he got the message. He stepped forcefully between nymph and crazed butler. Lady Castella, was forced to intercept the confrontation.

"Oh for pity's sake Curtis! Just show them the bloody package," a most poor choice of curses exited her mouth, causing Lord Castella to once again recoil into his depression.

"Yes, madam," the butler smirked, casting Gwenevere and Derick one last wicked grin before exiting that most lackluster gathering place.

"You'll need to forgive him, my dear," Lady Castella began again upon noticing the way Gwenevere continued to cower and squirm in wake of Curtis's odd departure. "Old Curtis went mad several years ago. But we couldn't find it within our hearts to ship him off to that ill-forsaken madhouse."  
_  
Yes, I completely understand. It would be more humane to send him into The Maw..._ Gwenevere couldn't help but think to herself.

She managed to nod weakly in agreement, as the horrendous screams and sights of the various insane asylums she frequented with Simmons burned across her mind like a relentless wildfire. What she had seen...what the demon within her had done...In spite of her lack of control, her complete and total helplessness at the feet of that wicked relic. No matter what the reasons had been, Gwenevere would never consider herself innocent, nor cleansed.

Some things, could simply never be forgiven.

Lady Castella, at least saw that she understood, despite her lack of words.

"So I am dreadfully sorry if our butler unnerved you, dear. But please," her voice grew dire and hopeful once more, "please do not allow his quirky behavior to diminish your interest in saving my son!"

Before either Gwenevere nor Derick could respond, Curtis returned with a small wooden box. Both of the Castella seniors cringed, and for a moment Gwenevere was sure that Lady Castella was on the verge of fainting. However, by the grace of whatever unnamed deity, she managed to maintain her composure. The butler practically shoved the dark wooden container into Gwenevere's awaiting hands. There was no note within the box, but rather a straightforward message-and one that caused Gwenevere's mind and heart to synonymously plummet into her icy stomach.

Inside the box, there was a bloody mess of what looked like paper pulp, and something truly rancid. It violated her flaring nostrils with a pungent aroma of meat and copper. That stench the little nymph had come to revile-that once curious bouquet that had flooded the halls of her father's deceitful funhouse, the smell that wafted from her mother's mane every time she would kiss Gwenevere goodnight.

Human remains. No doubt about it. Gwenevere's eyes narrowed as she spotted the message, **'GO TO THE WATCH, AND THERE WON'T BE ANYTHING LEFT'** crudely carved into the wooden lid. Derick subconsciously gripped the young girl's shoulders, fearing for her welfare. He glared back towards the broken couple, visibly demanding to know why on earth they deemed it correct to present a bloody box of torn flesh and severed fingers to such a young, and innocent girl.

But it was Gwenevere's reaction to all of this, which startled him most of all. She held onto that box, completely unfazed. Her expression was not one of horror, nor disgust. It was concentrated tenacity. Focused, and readied rage. She gently pulled the lid back over the gristly package, and faced the Castellas.

"Your boy may very well still be alive," she spoke in a calm, reassuring sort of voice, which the Hammer had never heard out of her before. "They didn't remove enough of his features to kill him-so long as his captors have properly applied pressure to the injuries."

The directness of her words, only caused the worried parents to grow completely hysterical. The thought of their son being butchered and mangled was simply just too much.

"Oh my...no...nononono...NO!" Lady Castella screeched like a ferocious banshee. She thrashed against the sofa, and began clawing at her own arms and face in some insane attempt to punish herself for what had happened to her baby boy. Her husband leaned forward, and tried his best to hold her steady, but to little avail.

"Was your son kidnapped for money?" Derick tried, in a desperate attempt to get some answers out of her before she passed out.

"OF COURSE HE WAS!" A brutalized Lady Castella screamed again, her vision blurry from tears and painful desperation.

"Then, he is most certainly still alive!" The Hammerite continued. "So long as you have not tarried too long in seeking aid."

"The inside of the box had a warning," Gwenevere added firmly. "Is this what took you so long to seek help? Is this why you sent me that secret code instead?"

"Yes," Lady Castella sniffed, finally having contained her maternal outburst. "Without the aid of the proper law, we were hoping that this so-called 'savior of the people' could assist. You're our little Jeremy's only hope."

"Just how old is your 'little' Jeremy anyway?" Derick inquired, crossing his arms. "You said he attended the Auledale Institute for Brilliant Young Men. That is a boarding school for adolescents of their fifteenth year and older."

"He is nineteen-a late bloomer if you will," Lord Castella weakly joked.

"Haven't you received any sort of amount, or ransom note?" Gwenevere wondered aloud.

"We did," Lord Castella croaked, "but we thought it was a jape of his! A-a way of getting back at us-at our money."

"We recently cut him off, you see. Part of his 'blooming' experience," Lady Castella added, taking a sip of her cold tea.

"What exactly did the letter say?" Derick pressed.

"It...it said that he had been abducted. That we were to pay a man named Ignious Smith fifty-thousand gold before September. We thought enrollment within the institute would mold Jeremy; make him more mature. We pampered him with far too much gushing praise and freedom in his younger years, you see," the lady of the house defended.

"But instead, he's been captured from that dreadful place," Lord Castella chimed in, wailing. "He never wanted to learn, never wanted to go there! Oh if only we'd allowed him to freely partake in his privilege and lifestyle!"

"Your son was made a target no doubt due to your standing and wealth, Lord Castella," the Hammerite replied. His face grew firm. "However, these 'pranks' he pulls, sound like little more than cruel and irresponsible lies. Had he been taught proper etiquette and respect, and proper punishment instilled from a young and pliable age, then mayhaps your lad wouldn't have been such an easy target."

Gwenevere gawked up at him-they all did. But Derick Garrison remained adamant in his intent to teach these parents a very important tenant. Hammerite or not, they had built up their boy all wrong-and now he was slowly paying for it.

"Ignious Smith knows where your boy is. We get to him, we get to Jeremy," the nymph blurted, eager to shift the conversation from this most unsettling turn.

"We already know where he is!" Lady Castella cleared her throat, visibly irritated with Derick Garrision's undesired holy lecture.

"Where?" Gwenevere pressed, her tone both respectful and urgent.

"The message I credited, spoke of the old foundry on West Brownstone," the irate father concluded.

Gwenevere looked up at her partner, an intensity radiating within her celadon eyes like lightning. Derick Garrison, placed both fists against his chest and bowed slowly. He was ready to follow her into the heat of danger and battle; ready to rescue this upstart young man. They both knew where they needed to go-and what needed to be done.

"Fear not, Lord and Lady Castella-we'll get your boy back!" Gwenevere winked.


	76. Chapter 76

_My mind screamed, the fresh hollow on my face seemingly amplifying my thoughts into a cacophony of pain. The world was slanted, red. Everything felt cold. The right side of my face...I couldn't even begin to describe it. White hot prongs made of gnarled branches, cutting effortlessly into me. Helpless to struggle, breath forced away into an unending scream. Sometimes, they say that's all you've got. But even my scream didn't last, as if that cloven-hooved betrayer had stolen it away along with my eye._

_My body grew rigid, as that ravenous dryad released me from her thorny talons. She wasn't beautiful anymore-far from it. That crimson-eyed temptress stood there toying with my severed optic as I lay sprawled before her upon the uncomfortable stone floor. Holding onto my oozing socket-holding onto my life by a miniscule, rotten thread. Praying to a god that I'd never even believed in, that this would all just end. And if that god really does exist, he denied me outright._

_Myth became reality that night-as I stared up at the fabled Trickster through my remaining eye, revealing all of my utmost fear and anguish unto the hellish Leafy Lord. I'll never forget the way he gushingly relished in my misery, or the contorted grin that seemed to be feeding off my every spasm. His ligneous consort veered little in comparison. Her grin was disturbingly wild, wolfish. I felt comparably like that of a doomed man, breathing his last in wake of a twisted maze-like jungle. The energy emanating from every fiber of her being was that of ferocity-an unhindered display of nature's raw power. Its ever-changing seasons, and the fickleness it harbors for all life forms. They say even beasts can smile, and after what I saw in her, now I believe it._

_Dimensions were torn open, a blinding luminance trying to ravage what was left of my vision. Laughter. Two tiny yellow eyes. The whimpering of a small child interwoven with those of a tortured animal. I had blocked her completely from my mind's eye. I didn't want to believe that she was there, watching as her unholy guardians butchered my body, and gnashed their teeth hungrily at my screams. But now, I see it all so clearly. Like the undeniable chills on the back of my neck, I can no longer deny that Gwenevere was there that night-watching, and possibly reveling along with them. No. Not reveling. Cringing. Not laughing. Quivering._

_No matter how hard I try, I am finding it harder and harder to convince myself which is real. The deeper I press, the more murky the memory becomes. And now as I shove this metal replica back into my skull, I am reminded of the inevitable. No matter how accustomed to this new life I grow, a piece of me is forever lost. Those I've stolen from over the years, they're ridiculously wealthy. They can easily replace anything I take, with absolutely no hesitation. But what has been stolen from me, can never truly be replaced._

_This prosthetic, is not mine. The nightmares which were oh so absent from my dreams prior, now seldom cease. It is as if that woodsie demon is taunting me still, though I know he is long gone. In truth, I have little to complain about. This mechanical marvel sees better than my flesh eye ever could, and my skills as a thief have only been enhanced thanks to this Mechanist tinker toy. However, in spite of all my recent success, and what I have conquered therein-I can't help but listen to that little nagging voice at the back of my mind. I can't help but remember, that I have lost so much more than my eye. But what exactly, I can never seem to pinpoint. Perhaps it is a frivolous thing that I can live without-like trust. Or perhaps, it would only make this entire memory far more unsettling, if I were to remember._

_Maybe, having such a hazy recollection of these memories, is for the best._

***

Garrett awoke with a scream that would rival that of the living dead. He struggled with his sheets for a moment, before taking a tumble off of Sophie's couch. He pawed frantically for several moments, gasping at the sensation of his empty eye socket; still damp with night sweats. Sophie came stomping into view, her hair done up in curlers, and her pink bathrobe tucked tightly around her voluptuous body. She took one look at her old friend's mortified expression, and felt her insides shift.

"Oh Garrett! You had the nightmare again, didn't you?" She inquired, her expression one of great empathy. Garrett started up at her through his one eye, absolutely astonished. He blinked, and his already gaping mouth grew even wider.

"How could you possibly remember that Sophie?"

"Because I care about you, that's how!" She retorted, giving him a motherly smile. The thief recovered from his perplexity, and exhaled a deep groan.

"It's a bit too early in the morning for _caring_, Sophie."

He clambered back onto the couch, and rolled over so his back faced her. Garrett didn't want to be here. He didn't want or need Sophie doting over him like a little lost puppy. But for whatever reason, that old and slightly uncomfortable couch of hers, was the only place he could rest these days. His abandoned training house, Sophie's guest room-both of these places reminded him far too much of Gwenevere. Garrett knew that he could always retreat to the bell tower, but with the recent storms, the masonry there had grown uncomfortably wet and moldy. For now, this was the only sanctity he clung to. Even if he did not outwardly admit it, Sophie understood that he felt a sense of serenity around her.

He secretly longed to be around someone who understood what he was dealing with, and that someone, had always been Sophie.

"I spoke to Gwenevere earlier today," Sophie yawned. The thief lifted his weary head from the cushions and stared at her. "She has agreed to meet you at the bell tower in three days."

"What time?" Garrett demanded, sitting upright. This was the first positive news he'd heard in so long. And it involved Gwenevere, no less.

"I'll be sure to ask her the specifics when she gets back from her mission tomorrow. Gwenevere is going out to lunch with myself and Keeper Mcclay."

Garrett began to sulk. It annoyed him to no end, that Gwenevere refused to speak to him except through Sophie like this. He felt like he was being punished-when in actuality, he'd done nothing wrong. The thief glowered up at the older woman. There were about a hundred nasty phrases lacing themselves around his tongue at that moment, but deep down, Garrett realized that none of them would get him closer to Gwenevere. If anything, an outburst against the nymphs beloved maternal figure, would only complicate matters further.

"Well, you have fun with that," Garrett groused.

"Thank you! It'll be nice to finally go out for lunch with him for a change," Sophie blushed. Garrett leered at her.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, until this little arrangement, Keeper Mcclay has been coming over here for lunch about twice a week."

Garrett sat rigid, staring her dead in the eyes. His lips twitched, the empty hollow of his right socket drilling into her subconscious, causing Sophie to silently cringe. He was furious, that much was obvious to her. But why?

"Garrett? What's wrong?"

"Sophie, I know this is your home and all," the thief motioned around the room with his arms. "But it's also _my_ safehouse. I don't appreciate you letting that Keeper come here. Why would you even _want _that?!"

The boxman's sister took insult to that.

"Well, like you said, this is my house," she scowled, not wishing to admit her true feelings for the mysterious Cedric Mcclay.

"Yes, Sophie," Garrett spoke insultingly slow, "but I hide out here, and I don't want to run into that agitating Keeper. And another thing-why the hell are you letting Mcclay near Gwenevere?! I haven't ruled him out as a suspect yet, nor do I know what his true intentions are!" Sophie crossed her arms, and rolled her light blue eyes at him.

"I think you worry too much Garrett. Mcclay's very kind, and_ very_ harmless," she defended.

"There is no such thing as a harmless Keeper, Sophie. You'd be wise to remember that."

Before Sophie could offer up another word, the thief stood from her couch, popped in his false eye, and stormed out into the balmy early morning streets.

***

**THE CITY  
EARLIER THAT NIGHT:**

Gwenevere looked up at Derick, and nodded.

"This is the place," she whispered.

"Understood, m'lady," her companion brandished his holy weapon with intent to do whatever it took to free the lad from his insidious abductors.

"I'm not interested in pliancy this evening. Our goal is to save the boy-by any means necessary," Gwenevere sneered, her tone flooding with an even deeper maturity. Derick nodded, smiling at her dedication to this mission.

He couldn't help but note the air of determination wafting from her person. Gwenevere was perhaps, the most devoted soul he had ever met-and she was not of his faith. The Hammerites had always ignorantly assumed that those not affiliated with the Order of the Hammer, were lazy, uninspired heathens. But this girl-far more Pagan in her beliefs than anything-had proven time and time again, that religion did not define one's heart.

"I am with you to the end, m'lady," Derick smiled once, then brought his hammer down hard against the door.

It shattered from its hinges, and fell into a pile of broken, splintered planks at the Hammerite's feet. Three dark-clothed men immediately stood, and produced daggers. One of them aimed a crude riffle at a terrified young man's head. Gwenevere's sickly green wood beast eye blazed with ferocious synergy in time to his mortified scream. No doubt about it-this, was Jeremy Castella. His face was awash with tears, his left hand crudely bandaged into a bloody stump. His sweat drenched-face contorted in absolute desperation, as he pleaded up at Gwenevere through helpless, confused eyes.

Even though he was paralyzed with fear, somehow, he sensed that she was on his side.

But one man, remained unshaken by their uninvited assault. He was quite possibly the ugliest human that Gwenevere had ever seen. He was hunchbacked, with a large bulbous nose. An amber hawk eye leered viciously into her like that of a true predator, while the other was covered over with a tattered leather patch. Scraps of greasy silver hair clung to his scarred and blemished head, and crooked yellowed teeth protruded past his thick purple lips.

"Kill the boy. The Castella's have decided not to cooperate," he beamed.

It was instantly clear to Gwenevere, that this man was Ignious Smith. Furthermore, it was obvious to her that he had been plotting to kill this boy from the start. His visceral scorn for all life was apparent to the nymph, as was the sinister drive of a true sociopath which enshrouded this deranged and malicious man like a rancid cloak. Gwenevere ground her teeth, allowing the utmost disgust she felt at that moment overtake her. Then, she removed her eyepatch, allowing that frightful demon eye of hers to absorb the kidnappers den. It wouldn't be long, after that.

The leader of the kidnappers felt nauseous, as a wave of acute anxiety wracked through his person. His mind began to spasm from the unholy visions bestowed through that hellish optic, prompting him to fall to his knees and succumb to an unnatural assault of epileptic fits and tremors. As her mind went dark, Gwenevere was determined not to kill any of these men. She at least owed her old teacher that much. That task, fell to Derick Garrison, who slammed his great weapon into several of the thugs, crushing their skulls into a pasty red pulp. The vigilante leader, turned her attentions to keeping Jeremy safe while her companion demonstrated his crusader prowess. Ignious Smith was still paralyzed by her distorted glare, making him the easiest target for Derick's mighty strength.

Silence fell over the kidnappers den, broken only by the sound of Jeremy sobbing. Gwenevere held him, shielding his face as best she could as she watched Derick clean chunky blood and brain matter from his hammer. He looked down at where she sat-hunched atop her knees with that grown man cuddled into her lap like a frightened child.

"'Tis over," the Hammerite commented. Gwenevere gingerly lifted Jeremy's face from her chest, and smiled at him.

"It hurts ma'am! It hurts so much!" He blubbered.

"Shhh, I know," she crooned, withdrawing a medical bag from the buckskin backpack Ayeena had crafted for her. Gwenevere took out a potion, some anesthesia, and clean gauze. She wasn't a doctor, but the nymph had seen Garrett work on injuries for nearly a year-both his and hers. The vigilante trusted herself to at least perform a simple treatment such as this.

But Jeremy's wounds, were anything but. As Gwenevere carefully cut through the bloodied dressings, she was met with what little remained of the young man's hand. Bone, and pathetic chunks of disease and cauterized flesh ravaged her eyes and nose with in a most disturbing manner. Gwenevere scrunched up her face, gulped, and did her best to anesthetize, treat, and re-wrap the lad's wounds in both a hasty and competent manner. Derick watched her work, impressed by her diligence and lack of disgust. Once the little nymph had done all she could for the hand, she hugged Jeremy very tightly, tears of relief and empathy streaming down her face.

"Come on. Let's get you home."

***

It was a severe under exaggeration to say that the Castella's were grateful to have their son returned safely. Lord Castella put out a call to the family surgeon, who appeared at the mansion mere minutes later dressed in little more than a bathrobe and slippers. Given the hour, he had most likely been sleeping when the messenger rang his door. Jeremy's hand unfortunately, could not be salvaged. Infection and loss of blood had irreparably damaged the tissue of the extremity, leaving the doctor with no choice but to amputate.

Lady Castella, relayed to Gwenevere that her son would be fitted with a cybernetic implant-much like the butlers.  
_  
"We do live in a most joyous time, do we not? Those Mechanists weren't all bad, ya know?"_

Her careless remark, nearly resulted in Gwenevere having to haul Derick away from the property, but at what seemed to be the last second, the Hammerite retained his outburst. The Castellas had previously demonstrated their complete lack of religious guidance and etiquette, after all.

Gwenevere was even paid a handsome reward for the rescue, which fueled the first inklings of a plan within her mind. Perhaps, stealing wasn't necessary at all for this little uprising. Perhaps, if she continued to aid the nobles in their social and domestic woes, more coin would surely follow. It was a rather tantalizing thought, to say the least.

She knew Garrett wouldn't approve, but Gwenevere couldn't have cared less. Her original intent was to aid _everyone_ in The City-not just the poor. Yet, even still, it it bothered the nymph that his opinion still mattered so much in her mind. She began to ponder what would happen, when they met up again. Gwenevere was still leery of the whole idea, but she also knew that Sophie had made a very good point. She should at least try and let Garrett talk to her, though she doubted that he would have much to say-besides repeating his negative opinions of her little endeavor, or commanding her to go home with him like some sort of trained dog.

But the result of the next night's conversation would have to wait. For the moment, Gwenevere walked beside her Hammerite friend as they made their way out of the rich district, and into the poorer neighborhoods. The scent of fresh rain filled her nostrils, as Gwenevere undid her long red hair. She tucked the band around her wrist, and smiled up at Derick.

"I think that went pretty well," she mused.

"Perhaps," the Hammer grunted, his gaze directed upwards at the hazy night sky, "but it is only a matter of time before that family falls into disrepair once more."

"Well why do you say that?" Gwenevere inquired, tilting her head to the side. Derick Garrision halted his procession, his posture growing rigid.

"It is the inevitable fate for those who cease to pursue order on their path to eternity."

Gwenevere frowned. Though she still did not understand everything her burly comrade spoke of, she knew enough. She understood that Derick was a very spiritual individual, but lately, this seemed to be doing little for his overall mood. Something seemed to be fading within him-like a candle struggling to stay alive in a blustery storm.

The nymph reached out and touched his upper back. The Hammerite glanced over his shoulder at her, haphazardly.

"Hey. Wanna go grab a bite to eat?" Gwenevere offered. Derick was silent for a moment, internally contemplating this.

"No. I am not hungry."

"What's the matter Derick?"

The rogue crusader sighed, his shoulders heaving as the large man slumped forward. Derick made his way to a solitary park bench, and plopped down. Gwenevere, joined him. She crossed her ankles, and stared up at her friend, waiting for him to feel comfortable enough to convey just what was troubling him so.

"Gwenevere. Mayhaps I ask thou a serious question?"

"You may," the nymph relaxed a bit. But what the Hammerite asked next, completely deleted that contentment.

"Thou art a Pagan, yes? Like Ayeena?"

A trill of unease swept over the young woman's body. Gwenevere bit her bottom lip, a fear like she had never experienced before threatening to disable her.

She was a Pagan, yes-if only by the fact that her forbearers were the heart of the entire faction. Gwenevere herself, was still religiously undecided. She obviously believed in her own father-oh, did she! She had been taught that several gods were indeed very real. But as an individual, she chose to worship none of them.

"Not exactly," she started, beginning to wonder if this was indeed the moment she had been dreading for weeks now. Had the time finally come for Gwenevere to reveal her true nature to the searching Hammerite?

The nymph had already experienced first-hand just what those zealots could do with their weapons-how badly it hurt her. Crushed her with that infernal pressure which still caused Gwenevere to visibly shudder. Earlier that night, she had seen her good friend Derick inflict the same punishment unto Jeremy Castella's abductors. Gwenevere cringed at the thought. She never wanted to feel anything like that ever again.

But this was a truth which the little nymph vigilante desperately needed to convey. A truth that her new friend needed to know. Right now, Derick Garrision was a man in search of a belief. Even though it wasn't the soul-fulfilling answer he sought, Gwenevere feverously realized that the truth was what he needed from her now. Perhaps his Builder's message would flow with more clarity, if the searching man first learned to have faith in his mortal friend.

"Umm, Derick?"

"Yes, M'lady?" He looked down at her, awaiting an answer.

"Do you recall when Dawson told you that I used to help the Growers?"

"Yes, I do," he gave a swift nod. Gwenevere toyed with the next statement in her head for a bit, trying to gauge just how severe it would sound.

"Well, turns out that there is a lot more to that story than I was comfortable revealing that day," the young woman weakly chuckled.

"Whatever doust thou mean?" The burly man questioned, once again slipping into his order's more traditional way of speaking. Gwenevere was unsure as to why he chose to do this, and given her current situation, it unnerved her greatly.

Now struggling to even maintain collected breath, the wood nymph locked eyes with her most loyal assistant. Her partner. One of her greatest friends. She was possibly about to loose all of this, and her life to boot. But this needed to be done, and maturing Gwenevere knew that.

"I-I'm more than just their friend-I'm their goddess. Or at least I was."

Her eyes, so tightly forced shut by fear and shame suddenly flew open with a lime green luster.

A golden sparkle of true magic.

"I was the Last Mother!"

The Hammerite leapt back, gawking. If any other being had just conveyed this, he would have simply thought them mad. But there had always been a curious mysticism to Gwenevere-similar to the aura of that Keeper. Some beings, were more enigmatic than others-but some, were glaringly obvious about their so-called hidden secrets.

_The Last Mother?! But that is but a myth!_

He must have repeated these words a hundred times within his mind-and yet, he could not convince himself. Inner turmoil hit the man like a wall of ice. Was this true? Was it even possible?!

Breath still caught in his throat, and Derick Garrison's stare fell helplessly to the green Pagan symbol embroidered into that leather eye patch that Gwenevere never removed. At least until that night. The Hammerite had seen her lift it, only for a moment. He had also seen, the insanity it had inflicted upon Ignious Smith. There was more than magic going on within that hidden eye, that much he now fully believed. With a deep, almost remorseful breath, he spoke.

"Gwenevere?"

"Yes?" She responded, nervous and near petrified. The moment of truth was drawing near, and Gwenevere knew it.

"Show me what's beneath your eye patch," he ordered, though his voice held more concern than force.

The feeling inside her stomach at that moment was nothing short of sinister. Gwenevere wanted to throw up, she wanted to cry. About the only thing she didn't want to do at that moment, was remove her eye patch and reveal that wretched Wood Beast eye to her newfound compatriot. But the look on his face, compelled her to be truthful.

"Derick. I'm sorry I never told you. I-I was so afraid we wouldn't be friends anymore. Please, don't hate me..."

Those were the last words Derick Garrison heard, before being consumed by the visage of a seething, sentient nightmare. As Gwenevere shakily lifted her patch, the Hammerite's mind was immediately thrust into an existential typhoon of unanswerable questions. The monstrous green orb was unlike that of any real creature. It was grotesque, it was horrifying. It was all too much for even a seasoned bearer of the hammer to process. The eye was practically devouring him, a primitive madness now searing his mind. It smiled, and it laughed. It taunted the crimson clad holy warrior.

_Beg manfool. Submit manfool. Scream manfool._

Derick heard these orders, intermingled into a sickening mess alongside his own terrorized protests. What sort of creature was this?!

He fought to remain standing, now viewing Gwenevere from several angles and in a multitude of forms. There was the young pure-hearted girl, there was a blooming red pansy with a strange phantom face. There was a nude maiden emblazoned with flowers, and smelling of apples and roses. Then, there was a ferocious dragon, resembling a living forest in both texture and mass. And finally, there was a ravenous beast of vines and bark, yellow curdled blood eternally oozing from its hollow left socket.

After a few seconds of complete disbelief, his mind finally accepted the fact that this unassuming young girl standing before him, was indeed the fabled Demolisher of Order. There was no other explanation. After all, what other being could even attempt to break one's mind with only the power of an eye? Their very faction symbol. The Hammerite stumbled backwards, mentally exhausted and physically weak.

Seemingly a world away, the forest nymph felt as the first of several tears trailed down her face. Whether it was due to his religious affiliations, or something completely different, he was being more adversely affected by her demonic gaze than any of the others. Gwenevere could feel it. He would never want anything to do with their friendship; not after this. She slowly began to accept the fact that he would probably try to kill her, once he regained his composure.

At long last, she replaced her eye patch, and rushed forward to aid her dazed companion. His bulk, accompanied by the sheer weight of his armor and weapon, nearly sent them both crashing down. But somehow, Gwenevere managed to keep him upright. She grunted and panted under his heavy form, the sounds snapping Derick back to the present.

The first thing he saw, was the Trickster's daughter, struggling to help him stand. The girl had to weigh less than one hundred pounds; far too small to be supporting his mass! Yet still, here she was-nearly fainting with exhaustion from her efforts.

"Hey Derick. You okay?" Gwenevere whimpered, trying desperately to hide her tears and difficulty.

His solemn, tired eyes illuminated with faith. Purpose. Like well-forged machinery, the parts and memories within his mind fused and cranked into place. Before leaving the path of Father Volkorn, and his mislead Hammerite brethren, Derick had prayed to The Builder for a sign that coexistence could be achieved between The Cities' numerous factions. Now, he found himself being aided by none other than the spawn of the Hammerites most diabolical and powerful nemesis.

Whether she was nothing more than a cosmic joke set into motion by a chaotic deity with far too much time on his hands, or if something had gone terribly wrong for her to turn out so sweet and innocent, the Hammer couldn't say. But whatever the reason for the Demolisher of Order's unexpected demeanor and actions, Gwenevere, had proven herself good. This tiny, quivering girl wanted what he did from the world-peace, progress. A brilliant, shining future. Casting his glassy eyes up to the heavens, the Hammerite smiled. If this wasn't a direct sign from The Builder, Derick Garrison didn't know what was.

"Tis alright, M'lady Gwenevere. All is right," he smiled reassuringly, and pried himself off of her crumbling shoulders.

Gwenevere's exhaustion instantly receded deep into the rain-soaked soil at her feet, a wide grin taking up a good portion of her face. Although her expression couldn't have been more jovial, inside she was still a little confused. What had just happened? Had the pixies played some sort of prank again? Was this all some strange misunderstanding? Gwenevere briskly shook her head. At that moment, the overjoyed nymph didn't even care. He was still her friend, and that was all that mattered.

Before his next breath, the Hammerite found a pair of scrawny little arms wrapped tight around his neck. He tried to smile, but the entire event had rendered him partially comatose. Gwenevere rubbed her cheek against his, and squeezed even tighter.


	77. Chapter 77

_If Artemus could see me now..._

Through a cluster headache and a violently shifting gut, the Master Thief somehow managed to form those words into conscious thought. No semblance of a grin came to Garrett's face, even though the thought of his old teacher discovering him amidst a mess of empty shot glasses _was_ rather amusing. He was far too distracted and dismayed to think so. Rather, sparse remnants of a lost mentor's carefully delivered lectures burrowed themselves deeply between the thief's ringing eardrums.

Talk of balance-and how Garrett had completely lost all traces of it.

He was a mess without that persistent Pagan pixie. The thought of meeting up with her the following evening had brought anxiety in place of proposed jubilation. The thought of what would happen to him, in the event that Gwenevere didn't take him back...it was in short, harrowing. A black hole, bent on crushing Garrett from the inside. The thief moaned as his stomach began to violently heave and shift once more at the notion, and he squeezed his throbbing temples.

His drive and focus were both already shattered-even worse than they had been following Erin's disappearance-and assumed demise. At least he hadn't drunk himself sick back then. The obnoxious hospitality, and drunken revelries of the Crippled Burrick were no longer a bother for Garrett-he'd sunken so deeply into his subconscious, that even at their loudest, the wayward thief rarely found himself truthfully bothered.

However, there was a man who made his home beneath all of that putrid noise, who could easily revive Garrett from even his most melancholy of states. And that man now slipped casually into a seat adjacent from the hunched, broken remnants of the world's greatest thief.

"Never thought I'd see you here to drink!" Basso commented, not yet aware of just how far the shadow-clad moonlighter had truly fallen.

Garrett answered him with little more than an exhausted groan. The boxman leaned in over the table, chancing an intrigued eye down at his old friend's paralyzed expression.

_As lifeless as a corpse,_ he thought. _This ain't Garrett-not at all..._

Basso clenched his teeth, fiddling his fingers over a rather copious sack of gold tucked discreetly within his inner coat pocket. He watched as his mate chugged another shot; a practice which Garrett wasn't entirely used to. The deep, discontented cough which followed, illustrated that observation brilliantly.

"Ya know, the fermented crimson sherry is probably a bit too rancid fer yer palate, Garrett. Last I checked, you were a man of taste-that stuff'll burn the taste buds right off yer tongue!" The boxman commented.

Garrett heard the words, but his mind was still having a pretty tough time registering on any of them. Basso realized this-but he also realized that there was one thing the thief's mind could never overlook. Reaching into his coat again, the bearded pauper clutched the sack of gold, and chucked it squarely in front of his friend. The reaction was almost comical. More out of instinct than actual awareness, the thief's hand struck the coin purse like an angry viper. Watching as the hooded man pocketed his newly-acquired little prize, Basso burst out laughing.

"Ah-hah! Thought _that_ might get yer attention!" The boxman chuckled knowingly. "Sorry it took so long-pirates ain't got a reputation fer being all-too punctual."

"Taffing idiot. You're never supposed to deal wares with pirates,' Garrett finally muttered.

"You can if yer sleepin' with em'!" Basso countered with a wink. The thief grimaced.

"I don't even want to know..."

"Heh-heh, I bet not," the boxman stared up at the collection of colorful liquor bottles from around the world, carefully nestled atop the inner scaffolding of the tavern. "Not with what yer goin' through."

Garrett stared out from beneath his cowl. His eyes were burning with intensity.

"What's that supposed to mean, 'what I'm goin' through'," he mocked his old friend's manner of speech, "I'm not 'going through' anything. Furthermore, why would a pirate want to sleep with you anyway? In fact, why would any of the gorgeous women you end up sleeping with ever see a damned thing in you?!" His frustration was at its pique, and the alcohol Garrett had been consuming since noon wasn't doing him any favors.

"Do I detect a hint of jealousy?" Basso remarked, crossing his arms.

"Like hell! You're absolutely pathetic!" Garrett spat, before taking another shot. Basso let the insult roll off his back-the way his mate's face contorted when the vile liquid slithered down his throat was apt compensation for his cruel tongue.

"At least I can take a shot without puckering up like some sissy tart, my friend," he chided.

"That's because this stuff's thick in your bloodstream by now, Basso," Garrett groused, his posture slumping further forward. When the thief laid his sweltering forehead against his arm, the boxman started to smile.

"Hey, take it easy. What's a good roast amongst friends, eh? Besides, I ain't mad at'cha anymore."

"Is that why you're here?" Garrett mumbled from beneath his hood.

"No. Sophie told me ta tell ya that Gwenevere has agreed ta meet ya tomorrow night. She'll be at the base of the old bell tower at midnight," the boxman explained.

"Yeah, okay," Garrett merely nodded, the thought of seeing Gwenevere again making him feel faint. Basso watched his face go pale, and the thief took another drink.  
"I wrote it down too. It's in with yer pay from the Hammerite heist," he whispered.

"That's nice. Not that this money equates to much, seeing as how the One-Eyed Pirate Queen took the rest..."

"She earned it, didn't she?" Basso retorted. "You, me and Gwennie all got a one third cut. I thought you knew you'd have to share your cut with Gwennie goin' in."

"Never did before," Garrett snorted.

"Why the hell not?!" Basso realized how silly those words sounded, all too late after they'd left his lips. _Share_, was not a word greedy Garrett kept in his learned vocabulary. At least, he pretended not to know the meaning.

"Because it was mine. Because Gwenevere's a nymph who would just as likely wear pretty cityfool currency than use it. Because Pagans are still trapped in the past with the barter system-take your pick..."

The boxman smiled sadly. Through Sophie, he knew all about what had transpired-why Gwenevere was on her own now, dealing out harsh yet stealthy vigilante justice. Why Garrett had demeaned himself to the status of a defeated drunk who'd lost all desire to stalk the night and plunder her riches. He also knew that sometimes common ground could be extremely cathartic.

"Heh, small world. My lady ran off in the night too," he blurted. Garrett slowly lifted his clammy face from the gentle beckoning of the cool wooden table, and his comforting leather armguard.

"You mean, the robot?" He leered mockingly up at the jolly man.

"Yeah. That metal gal who gave me more than any real woman ever has," the boxman bit his lip. "Save one..."

The thief stared blankly at his old friend, feeling strangely concerned-even after all that had transpired between them. The subject of Jenivere, was always a tragic one.

"Look, I'm sorry that it never worked out with Jenivere," he mumbled, almost hoping that Basso wouldn't hear his true thoughts. But he did.

"Ya wanna know why Garrett?" Basso's eyes twinkled, finding his opening.

"Not particularly," the thief huffed, burying his head back against his arms. The strong liquor was starting to give him a horrible headache.

"Well too bad, because ya need ta hear this Garrett," the boxman proclaimed, far more aggressively than usual. Garrett moaned in discomfort, gripping at the back of his cowl.

"Not now Basso, okay?"

"Jenni left me because of trust. She was afraid I'd get killed doing what I did. The gal wanted to start a family, Garrett. So, I promised that I wouldn't do the safecracking shtic nomore," Basso shrugged.

"How long before you broke your little _promise_?" The thief glared out from behind his elbow through a perturbed metal eye.

"About three months," Basso replied, clearly ashamed. "I did try. But finding honest work's easier said than done sometimes."

"Which is why I never made the attempt," Garrett actually smirked at that. "Go on."

"Well, the details about how she found out ain't important. I broke a promise to her, and that was enough. After she left, I slipped back into my old routines, eventually got myself caught up in the semi-lucrative world of fencing," Basso chuckled, though it was the shortest-lived glee the thief had ever seen from him. Seconds later, the boxman was somber again, demure and forlorn. He looked his old friend dead in the eyes before speaking his next words. "Losing the trust of someone you love can often be the fastest way to lose _them_ Garrett. I learned that lesson painfully. I've never stopped thinking about what could have been."

"Right, except I didn't break any sort of promise to Gwenevere," Garrett snapped, unwilling to see even a hint of foreshadowing or warning within that tale.

Perhaps, he simply didn't want to.

"Garrett," the boxman sighed hard. "Lemme ask you something, mate."

"I don't really feel like wasting any more time on this," the thief huffed, downing another shot.

"Did I_ say_ please?" Basso snorted, giving Garrett a very serious look. "Now, imagine how it was, all them years ago. You, and only you. If someone were ta try and say that you were going about everything the wrong way, what would you have done?"

"If you're talking about the Keepers," Garrett sneered up at the bar wench as she refilled his shot glass for the twelfth time that evening. He hadn't tipped her once, and she was growing a bit obvious with her dissatisfaction. "I left. No one tells me what to do."

"Right," Basso nodded. "Well now Gwennie's gone and left you."

The boxman's words were cutting, poorly chosen blades sharpened over the years upon his best friend's mindless insults and cruelty. But they were necessary, if Garrett was ever going to learn from all of this.

"Your argument is invalid Basso," was all the thief could manage in return. It wasn't his best concealed of bluffs.

"Is it? Ya said ya trusted that gal. Ya promised ta train her. Then, one night ya up and tell her that after almost a year, she's magically 'not thief material', and send her packing. What the hell do ya call that?! Listen Garrett-Gwennie'd never sell you out!"

"I know that Basso!" Garrett hollered, prompting the tavern's patrons to all turn and stare at him. He pulled his cowl tighter around his neck, and ground his teeth.  
"I didn't let her go because of trust, you stupid drunk!"

"Oh-ho! The irony bes sweet here," Basso mumbled, a confident smirk spread wide across his face.

"Don't talk like a Pagan," Garrett groused.

"Hmm, maybe I should wait until I'm _Hammered_ first, eh?" Basso winked. Garrett buried his face against the table again.

"Just shut up."

"So, why_ did_ you tell poor Gwennie all those things?"

"I did it to keep her safe, taff-for-brains!" the thief was slurring like a marinated sailor by this point. Basso scooted closer to him, elbowing his old friend in the arm. Garrett looked up at him, his face revealing the thief's complete lack of sobriety.

"Garrett," Basso began, still smiling. It was softer now, kinder and more solemn. "Gwennie is gonna be just fine on her own mate. She's adorable, resourceful, and brilliant. Hell, if she schmoozes over a few guards, I wouldn't be surprised if she was able to get some of the charges against you dropped!" The boxman tried to end his encouragement on a playful note. It failed miserably.

"Tch, doubt it," the thief rolled his eyes. "She's got her own wanted posters now too. I've ruined her Basso. I've turned her into a criminal. Just like me. I should have known this would happen. I don't get women, Basso. I don't understand anything about this city, save the parts no one else ever sees. I pulled that naïve girl down here with me, and now I've lost her somewhere amidst all this darkness."

Basso frowned, his eyes keeping vigil over the thief's ravaged thoughts and suffering words. Somewhere, for his own sanity, the boxman had to believe that Garrett was just unintelligibly drunk. But given how precise and cutting his earlier sentiments had been, the lurking truth that his friend actually believed this became disturbingly apparent.

"You do know that she chose this road, don't you?" Basso hoped, his stare softening as it bore into Garrett.

"I could have told her no. I could have told you no. I didn't have to take your bribe that night to train her. I didn't have to let her live with me for three months," the thief faced him with wide, gleaming eyes.

Something in his face unnerved Basso. Obviously, Garrett was a remorseful drunk. But there was a severe weight behind these last words-something just reminiscent of existential. And Basso was not sure if he indeed had the skill to offer solace to such a quandary.

"Garrett..." was all he managed, watching helplessly as his best friend downed another shot.

Garrett pressed the empty glass to his forehead, and his lips parted to reveal the thief's teeth, clenched in deep tribulation and pain. It was obvious to Basso by this point, that the thief was desperately trying to make sense of the basic principles and practices he'd gone the majority of his lifetime without ever truly understanding. Love and affection, ranked high on that list.

"I should have driven her off the moment her infatuation with me became obvious. I should have never let her sleep in my bed that night. I should have done what she was expecting when she kissed me," he looked up, his hazel eye bitter and twinkling. "I should have never gotten involved in any of this. I've made a complete mockery of my vocation Basso."

The boxman listened intently, before clearing his throat.

"You know, for years you've been saying that. You keep accusing other lowlifes of unprofessionalism and weakness when they get tangled up with someone, or hitched. Ever stop to think that maybe finding someone dependable that you can trust and share your life with is normal?"

"It's not for everyone," Garrett grumbled.

"Look mate. I know this is hard, and I can sympathize with yer pain here. I've been there many a time myself. But please Garrett, I'm beggin' ya-don't pretend you don't love Gwenevere," the boxman spoke in a firm, yet gentle tone.

"She'd honestly be better off without me Basso."

"What?! You kidding me? Who's gonna be there ta stop her from raiding the sweet shop? The City might be thrust into chaos!"

"I fail to perceive how that could possibly happen..."

"Oh, ya never know Garrett. Folks sure like their scones and cakes," Basso shrugged. "By the way, I accept yer apology," his grin expanded.

"I _didn't_ apologize..." the thief murmured. Basso burst out laughing.

"You kidding? You've been sitting here, tolerating me for nearly a half hour. That's Garrett language for, 'I don't hate yer guts nomore."

Garrett finally raised his head all the way out from his arms, and started absentmindedly up at the boxman. He tried to speak, but his gaping mouth felt almost ajar. Basso patted his friend hard across the back once, and smiled.

"Gotcha again taffer. Damn, I'm gettin' good at this," he rose from the barstool with a grunt, and turned to leave. "Now don't screw it up when you go talk ta Gwennie tomorrow night, alright?" Basso winked.

"Basso?" Garrett murmured, still incredibly drunk. His words halted the boxman's departure. Basso turned back around, an inquisitive look in his weathered eyes.

"Yeah?"

"Steal you a drink for old time's sake?" the thief offered. It was the closest thing to a sincere apology that Garrett was capable of attempting at that moment, and Basso knew it. The middle-aged fence grinned, feeling incredibly nostalgic.

"You think you can, in err..." he motioned to the thief's empty shot glass, "yer current state?"

"I've always appreciated a good challenge; you know that," Garrett slurred, finally grinning. Basso, grinned back.

He sure did.


	78. Chapter 78

The next few days seemed to drag by, as they often do when one is paranoid, or consumed by a great dread. Gwenevere spent this agonizing wait recovering from the emotional distresses of her last mission. She lay there atop her crude brown bed, stroking the leaves of her growing seedlings, and re-playing the entire evening over and over within her mind. She saw Jeremy's disfigured and bloody stump of a hand, and she heard the bursting shatter of skulls and brain matter as her Hammerite associate dealt his order's trademark justice unto the boy's persecutors. She felt the cold sweats of deep fear return, as the contorted horror on Derick's face concluded each of these terrible daydreams. Afterwards, the nymph would always lay still upon her bed-and she would always cry.

On this, the last day of her three day wait, Gwenevere found her post trauma somewhat deadened. Instead, a much more pressing fear consumed her thoughts. Garrett. That night, she was to speak to her old mentor for the first time in so very long. She was nervous, apprehensive. How would he react? Would he even show? In some ways, Gwenevere hoped not. This was a bad idea, and the only reason she was even trying to patch things up with the thief, was for Sophie's sake. But internally, the nymph vigilante had already concluded that there was very little to be gained from any of this.

Her expectations, were gravely underestimated.

The others within Keeper Mcclay's hideout were all busy with their daily routines, leaving Gwenevere relatively bored. Derick Garrison had made a point of avoiding everyone since Ayeena's cruel words, and Gwenevere's dramatic reveal had done nothing to remedy that. He had now taken to his chambers completely. The only one who had seen him at all during the last three days, was Keeper Mcclay-and perhaps Sandris, who was never far behind. Gwenevere continued to fret over her newest friend, and her prayers for their connection and his well being multiplied.

As she sat there silently speaking to the universe-rather than any specific deity-Gwenevere noticed the journal Keeper Mcclay had given her regarding Garrett's life within the order. Seeing as she was to meet up with him at the bell tower later that night, she decided to try and finish the thing. Mcclay had indeed been correct-much had been learned about her old master from its pages. Gwenevere had no idea just how retracted the thief actually was. Even in childhood, he seemed to have carried around an unseeable burden which he refused to show anyone. This pain, this sinister secret, only seemed to grow into his later adolescence, and it was glaringly apparent in his adulthood. Gwenevere also knew for a fact, that Garrett had added to this burden. He clung to every poisoned experience, coiling it around that unknown first pain again and again throughout the years. That initial blemish, had become a warped and abominable black mass of undulating anguish, and debilitating scars.

But as she thumbed to the last couple of entries in the journal, nothing could have prepared her for just how deep this pain his actually went. What awaited Gwenevere within those last two pages, was nothing short of abysmal.  
_  
August 17th,  
It has become impossible for me to deny that which the others all gossip about like bored fishwives. My novice, is involved with Artemus's little gutter snipe. I think at first, I tried to reason that I had trained her better than that. But if there is one consistency with Clarissa, it is that girl's passion. She has a drive like no other novice I have ever witnessed on these grounds before. The moment I took her from those distressed Anvils, I knew she was going to be a challenge. Those cloistered sisters could not ease her inner flame, and the Hammerites could not bend her to their will. Their order is foolish-full of simple answers, and unrealistic goals. But I am not of their order-I, am a Keeper. And I knew that there was another way-balance. Like carefully crafted scales, I worked from day one to balance Clarissa's determination with her resistance. I trained her to fuel that desire to succeed, that passion to be greater than the others, into her studies. As such, she pushed herself as I expected-and she over-excelled beyond even my greatest of hopes. She was my prize pupil, and the council agreed with me. To even consider making her a Magic Scribe at her young age-greater emotion has never consumed my heart so completely._

_-Keeper Remon_

Gwenevere was surprised to see the entry continued further down the page. So far, most of the other entries had spanned months, or sometimes years between reports. This entry appeared to not only be from the same day, but it appeared to be directly linked to the last one. Almost as if something truly unsettling had occurred upon that fateful day. The nymph felt a strange tightness in her chest. She had seldom been this apprehensive in the entirety of her existence. A part of her wanted to just put the journal away. Even if Keeper Mcclay had given her permission, this was clearly knowledge that she wasn't supposed to know. However, be it her intense nymph curiosity, or something far more devoted, Gwenevere read on:

_August 17th,_

_But in my haste to accept her brilliance and strength, I had overlooked her weakness. Somehow, her balance shifted more in favor of resistance. She has run off with that boy, and placed all of our order at great risk of discovery. Once again, the council has spoken. Though I doubt any of us, (save that whimsical fool Artemus), see anything in his street mutt-save trouble-this comes as most disgusting news to me. My student, is to be cut down by the Enforcers, yet Garrett is to be brought back alive, and turned into one immediately following this. So my Clarissa with all of her discipline and skill is unsalvageable, yet that rebellious little traitor is worth saving?! Is it perhaps, due to the expected child she now bears? If so, canst we simply end the fetus instead?! Why must such a valuable and learned novice die for the mistakes of such a foolhardy and irresponsible whelp? I shall not stand for this fool decision! I plan to appeal to First Keeper Xavier, before the Enforcers are released on The City. No. He will not listen. I fear the decision has already been reached to dispose of my trainee! No matter-I am that girl's mentor. I cannot allow her to die, even if this goes against my orders. I must-_

The entry ended abruptly, and the last page was splattered in blood. Gwenevere slammed the book shut with a gasp, and nearly fell off of her bed. She steadied herself, still shaking as Pilfur stared up at her through visibly concerned green eyes. He mewed softly, flicking his tail back and forth. The nymph shuddered, her eyes glassy and wide. Before her next breath, Gwenevere found herself crying like a helpless child. Now she finally understood just why her thief had hated the Keepers-why he distrusted Mcclay. If this horrible documentation was any indication, Keeper Mcclay was a rare gem indeed. He cared for so much more than knowledge and prophecy. He understood that life held far more value than secrets and traditions. But the others...had the Keepers really been so vicious in their pursuits-in their adamancy to keep their order a secret? Was it even possible?

Then there was the matter of this mysterious girl. She could have sworn that Garrett had mentioned Clarissa before, but he had told a very different story regarding their relationship. Talk of young lust, rather than an actual connection or romance. So many questions now flooded the little nymph's mind, like puzzle pieces composed of misapprehensions and genuine despair. Who was this unknown child Clarissa had been carrying? Why had she run away with Garrett? Why did the Keepers take such severe actions against them?

The obvious answers eventually assaulted her mind, causing Gwenevere to whimper. They'd tried to escape an imprisoning life of solitude and mysticism, for a more simple aspiration. An aspiration, which the Order had inevitably deemed, disruptive. Unbalanced. Garrett had granted her the kindness of a lie, because he'd known that the truth would be far too much for her heart to bear. Perhaps, this was true-or perhaps it was for his benefit entirely. Whatever the case, she felt sick. Crushed.  
The nymph ran her trembling fingers over the waxy leaves of her seedlings, trying against all comfort to even begin understanding what the feeling of having your own child murdered would be like. In the end, Gwenevere was unsure if she indeed replicated it correctly, but as she stood there partially comatose, her heart swelled with an intense surge of empathy for her old mentor. Her beloved thief. Whether this was indeed the beginning of that black ball of angst and hate inside Garrett's soul, she couldn't say. But the possibility, was excruciating for her. Time seemed to cloud over, going by even slower than before.

Gwenevere fell to her knees, and broke apart sobbing.

***

**THE BELL TOWER  
LATER THAT NIGHT:**

Garrett chewed his cheek in the sanctity of midnight's shadow. The bell tower clanged out it's hollow, mournful memory, and a flock of ravens took flight against the alabaster moon. As the twelfth chime faded into history's requiem, the thief's pulse began to quicken. He felt her wild eyes on him, prompting a sensation of thousands of tiny insects to begin skittering about within his gut. This was it.

Garrett turned around, and faced Gwenevere. She stood in the opposite alleyway, her expression intense as they made eye contact. The Master Thief exhaled a long breath through his nostrils, and clenched his teeth behind taut lips. He silently began walking over to her. For several moments, the cynical criminal and the idealistic vigilante just stared at one another, Garrett's obvious six inch height over Gwenevere doing very little to diminish her imposing posture. She had truly come into her own. No longer a childish sapling, but a mature and confident wood nymph.

"Word on the street is that you rescued the Castella's boy from a kidnapping," Garrett's tone was reminiscent of gravel.

"Yes," was all Gwenevere chose to respond with. Garrett blinked once before granting her the most unsure of expressions.

"Well, you know how I feel about that already," the nymph's heart sank, only to leap at his next words. "But still, you did good Gwenevere. You've always been a good girl. You're...going to make an amazing mother." The last words meshed and ran into a muddled murmur. But the feelings behind them, were quite genuine.

"Thank you. I'm glad you think that Garrett," Gwenevere blushed, despite the fact that she'd vowed not display any emotion around the thief. She was still uncomfortable around Garrett. Still feeling hurt and betrayed.

More awkward silence followed, the only sound a discontented drunk rambling and yelling several blocks away. Glass shattered in the distance, and The City went quiet once again. Garrett shuffled his boots, looking around rather than keeping his eyes locked on his old student. Gwenevere, did the same.

"So, what have you been up to lately?" Gwenevere's natural chattiness saved the day. Garrett stared down at her again, and blinked.

"Nothing important," he managed. Far be it from her to know that the thief had lowered his standards profusely in lieu of her departure. Picking pockets, getting drunk to forget. Or was it to remember?

At the bottom of every bottle, he found her. The distorted fragments of that dreary tavern seemed to liven up with color whenever this happened-whenever his memories were gracious enough to allow her laughter entry. It soothed away the persistent bouts of darkness, and it shrouded him in a false sense of comfort. Sometimes, Garrett could practically feel her tiny arms around his back and neck, though these events were as rare as they were welcomed.

"That's strange," she actually giggled. Oh, how the thief had missed that sound! "Usually you take such great pride in briefing me on your latest missions and conquests."

"Work is slow Gwenevere," Garrett bit his tongue, resisting the urge to explain why.

That the brazen efforts of the One-Eyed Pirate Queen had prompted both the watch and most of the nobility to amp up the number of guards and bluecoats they employed-as well as increased security. It was one of the most difficult things he'd ever done for a long while-swallowing his pride like that. But he knew that one mistake, and his nymph would retreat back into the darkness; possibly for the last time. He couldn't risk losing her. Not when he'd clawed his way this close again!

"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that," Gwenevere offered, flicking a strand of bright red hair up over her left ear.

Garrett noticed that she still kept her hair up in that ponytail. He was no expert on women or their hair, but the thief suspected that it was simply easier to go about her heroics with it pinned out of her face like that. Perhaps she was learning from her past mistakes, as he'd taught her. There had been more than one occasion in the past, where Gwenevere's messy bangs and long untamed hair had gotten in her face during training, and caused her some issue.

"What about you?" Garrett inquired.

Gwenevere must not have been expecting him to care about her endeavors, because she shot straight up, and her jaw dropped open.

"Who me?"

"There's...no one else here, Gwenevere," Garrett chided, though she didn't seem too offended by it.

"Oh! Well, other than the Castella rescue, my Merry Gang is helping the poor mostly. I think sometime next week, we're going to help the Growers get back on their feet."

Garrett appeared to grow concerned at the mention of the Growers.

"Just be careful, okay?" He urged. "You remember what happened last time-with Dawson?"

"Yeah. I know. Thanks Garrett," Gwenevere nodded. "But Ayeena, Nellarose, and Derick are all coming along too. Dawson won't have a chance to get me alone or anything."

"Make sure of that," Garrett added firmly.

"I actually used a spore grenade on him!" Gwenevere smiled, knowing that this bit of news would delight the thief. She was indeed correct. Garrett, actually chuckled.

"Would have liked to see that," he scoffed.

"I made it very clear, that I am only helping the Growers. Not him."

"Good. It's bad enough that you're dealing with Keepers and so many other fanatics. Best keep Dawson and his farm buddies far away from your little cause."

This cynical little remark, was nearly translucent to Garrett. He'd grown used to a certain manner of speaking, and justified it within his mind. It was difficult enough to not yell or scold Gwenevere for all the trouble she'd inadvertently been causing him. But some things, were beyond his control. The nymph didn't seem too offended, but she did take a step backwards.

"Hey! Keyper Mcclay is alright. I know why you hated the other Keypers so much now, but Mcclay isn't like that!"

Garrett's eyes narrowed, his right optic whizzing and twisting as he continued to focus upon her adamant little face.

"What are you talking about Gwenevere? You've never even met the others. You have absolutely no idea what you're even going on about!" He snapped towards the end, wincing in silent frustration and regret when he did so. His expression grew solemn again, his mind hoping that she wouldn't run off at his callous remark.

"I do!" Gwenevere defended. "Keyper Mcclay let me borrow the book that they wrote about you. I know everything now Garrett!"

The thief's face crumbled into a harsh scowl. He was aware that at least one book existed documenting the more interesting and 'prophetic' stents of his life. But the last time he had seen it, the tome was sealed away within the Keeper Library. Garrett had to wonder if this was indeed the same book-and if so, how in the hell had Mcclay gotten his skeletal hands on it?!

"What do you mean?" He decided to humor the girl.

Gwenevere did have an overabundant imagination, and she tended to draw conclusions out of nothing sometimes. In another life, she could have been a great mystery author-or a downright terrible one. Garrett rightly assumed, that she was just exaggerating when she said she 'knew all'. However, he had severely underestimated the Keeper tomes-and the delicate information they held about his life.

"Keyper Mcclay loaned me this book. It had all these entries dating back to when they first took you in to the order," Gwenevere bit her bottom lip, her pupils large and tragic. "...and it ended the night you ran away."

Garrett's eyes began to gyrate in rage. Mcclay had no right-none of them did. What happened with the Keepers, what happened with her...these were Garrett's secrets alone. He was beyond furious that Keeper Mcclay would just hand down his most private information to Gwenevere like that. He stared at her, trying to gauge just how affected she was by such crushing truths. But to his amazement, the nymph appeared collected and silent. Her expression revealed how badly she wanted to reach out to her old teacher-how much of his faded pain she could indeed feel.

Though he wanted to say so much more in response, all the thief could manage, was one sentence.

"Damn it Mcclay..." He clenched his fists and craned his empty face towards the starlit void. "How much do you know?"

"Enough to feel your pain, Garrett," Gwenevere responded.

The thief glowered down at her, feeling little more than scorn at such wishful notions. This entire situation was a complete nightmare. Thanks to that meddlesome Keeper, Gwenevere had been handed these grueling memories as if they were little more than lost items. And, as per usual, she didn't understand in the slightest just what she had stumbled upon. These were forbidden secrets which belonged to no one; discarded long ago by a traumatized young man after watching his best friend breathe her last in a pool of dark crimson. The thief stood stoic and apprehensive, some semblance of a dark smirk contorting beneath the confines of shadow and cowl. But it didn't last. In a near-hollow tone which Gwenevere had never heard out of him before, this emerged:

"You know nothing of my pain Gwenevere."

"But Garrett-"

"-Come back and see me when you've felt true suffering, lost everything, and then managed to claw yourself away from death. I've done this...so many times. Don't pretend you know me, understand what I suffered, just because some old robed coot gave you a book."

He turned away from her, intent to just leave that place. This evening hadn't gone at all as planned, and Garrett reasoned that perhaps it was better to just call it a night before anything worse happened. He could always try again, on some other night. Perhaps by then, he figured, Gwenevere would have forgotten the entire thing. However, even in that moment, Garrett knew this was a lie. A nymph's mind was like sticky honey-it clung possessively to every bit of knowledge learned, and it never allowed juicy secrets to leave.

But as he began to recede behind the bell tower, the thief felt the gentlest tap on his shoulder. He glanced to the right, only to feel a lush sprig of ivy tickle his face. It moved upward, and caressed his cheek in a passionate, yet fleeting and almost shy motion. Garrett rolled his eyes, and turned around.

"Yes Gwenevere? What is-"

Her expression stunned him into silence. Locked away like an enigmatic treasure within her eyes, was the most sympathetic and loving expression that the thief had ever seen. Gwenevere smiled as she retracted her vine. It retracted back into her index finger and the wood nymph nodded, unshed tears glistening within her large green eyes.

"Garrett. Please don't hide from me."

Garrett sighed, and shrugged with the utmost reluctance.

"Okay Gwenevere. Okay. You win. I'll stay. You want to talk about what you read, right?" The nymph nodded. The thief groaned. "Okay. Well, you know most of the story already. But that damned book didn't tell you what they planned for me, now did it?"

"It said something about converting you...into an Enforcer, like Sandris," Gwenevere answered.

"No. Not like Sandris," Garrett corrected. "Sandris has free will. Sandris isn't bound to Mcclay and the rest of the order like an expendable killing machine. They were going to make me into a real Enforcer. A masked nightmare completely devoid of anything human. And do you know why, Gwenevere?" He pressed, growing more bitter and dramatic by the minute. Gwenevere shook her head.

"No. The exacts weren't given."

"Well then, brace yourself," he warned. "The Keeper Council voted to make me into an Enforcer, in order to quell my so-called recklessness. My mentor, Artemus, fought strongly against the ballet, but he was just one man. None of the others held any love for me. If they'd had it their way, I would have never been allowed to stay."

"Is that why you ran away?"

"Yeah. When I found out, I took off. Clarissa practically begged to come along," the thief sighed, rubbing his temples. "I should have never said yes."

"But she was carrying your..."

Gwenevere struggled to find the right words, but Garrett abruptly cut her off. It was a simple, straightforward gesture. He placed his index finger against her lips. Gwenevere's eyes widened at his touch. She hadn't felt the thief's hands upon her in so very long. She blushed wildly, and began to tremble. Garrett's eyes remained adamant and stern as he watched her, trying to gauge just what she'd try to say or do next. When she remained complacent, he gradually lowered his finger from her wanting lips.

"So now you get it. That's the entire story of my past with the Keepers, and yes-this is also why I detest Mcclay. Why I will never trust him," the thief stared upward at the stars again. "Maybe it sound ridiculous, but every time I've ever been forced to take another's life...I feel like they got what they wanted. Perhaps that's why I've never liked killing..."

"I...I understand now," Gwenevere peeped, her body quivering like a flower fighting against an icy gale.

Garrett faced her, and placed both of his hands against her trembling shoulders. While he was grateful and elated to see her growing wise and mature, watching his nymph lose her innocence to such terrible stories was heartbreaking. Gwenevere's reaction to the ugliness of reality was painful for him. Nymphs were not meant to carry the burdens of humanity, and the thief couldn't help but feel partially responsible for her distress.

"Listen Gwenevere. This city is changing you. It's poisoning your mind with too much terrible information. You did a great thing, I guess-helping all those people. But now you need to just end this little revolution and come back with me. Back to where you belong," Garrett affirmed. He tightened his grip on her. Gwenevere pulled back, gasping.

"Back to where I _belong_?!" She was flabbergasted. "You just don't get it, do you? I'm NOT your possession Garrett-and you can't force me to do _anything_!"

She spat, throwing up her arms in defiance. Garrett ground his teeth. This was supposed to be his chance to return everything between them to some state of normality. Instead, it seemed like nothing at all had gone right that evening. He was beginning to think that maybe there wasn't anything left to say-no way to bridge that gigantic gap between their hearts. Unless...

"Damn it Marine! I love you more than life itself!" He blurted, feeling like a right taffing fool the moment the quote left his lips.

The little nymph grew petrified. Her arms fell softly down to the sides of her body, as if the impact of his words had caused her limbs to wilt. Was he...quoting Robber Hood for her?! What had prompted this?

She had never been one to refuse a test-a challenge. Gwenevere had read that entire book at least ten times now. If Garrett truly wanted to play this game, she was willing. Turning around, she locked eyes with her estranged mentor, and responded in a bitter voice:

"Men speak conveniently of love when it serves their purpose. And when it doesn't, it's a burden to them," Gwenevere's eyes flooded with tears of anguish as she spoke her next line. "Robber Hood, greatest of thieves. Is he even _capable_ of love? After the burden he has cast unto min heart, I sincerely doubt it!"

Her words filled Garrett with anguish. But he wasn't finished yet. He'd read that book far more times than even his obsessed little nymph.

"Marine! My purpose in those actions was never to hurt you; I swore unto myself that I would protect you. Do you not remember?!"

"All I remember of you is the cruelty of your scathing tongue, as it inflicted such unspeakable wrath unto my childish heart."

"Please understand that years of pain and misery may change a man," he tried.

That last bit, didn't quite fit their current dilemma as much as the other lines from chapter twenty-five, but at least for Garrett, it felt as though he hadn't seen Gwenevere in years. Depression and alcohol, tended to have that effect on mortals. In truth, he was impressed with her for remembering this much of the book. Unlike himself, Gwenevere must have only read it a few times. Garrett smiled in spite of himself, realizing at that moment that the girl quite possibly loved that fanciful rebel's tale more than he did. Gwenevere wiped her eyes, and began to smile at last.

"You really do love that book, don't you?" the wood nymph crooned. Garrett nodded.

"Maybe not as much as you do," he smirked.

"Garrett?"

"Yeah?"

A smile graced the callous moonlighter's hardened face. Both stood lost for a moment, looking at each other. Positive about what they wanted to do, but each as unsure as the other about if they dared to tread down that unstable road. In spite of this, the little nymph's wooden heart sank further down to the bottom of that surreal abyss, until it drifted down and daintily landed amidst the enigma of blackness. Next to his, where it had been awaiting her arrival for so very long. Brisk and chilled at first was the Master Thief's most vital organ when hers fell, but as the smog and stardust withered away, Gwenevere found that she could feel his pulse; breathe into it.

After so many sleepless nights, so many toxin-filled days fresh with tears and blood, light and shadow shuffled into each other once more.

"Tonight...tonight was nice. We should go to the opera house some time," she giggled.

"For loot? Or one of those ungodly performances?" The thief chuckled, adding to her giggle and creating a duet of sheer joy amidst the night.

They were speaking again, connecting again. But most importantly, they were happy again.

"How about both?" She leaned forward on her toes, causing her ponytail to bounce. Garrett smirked, and nodded.

"Sounds like a plan, Gwenevere."


	79. Chapter 79

**_But the pendulum swings yet. Both factions, greenwood and machine, will again strive against each other, and the world will turn between them. All will be darkness and shadow, and the future shall be unwritten forever._**

**_-Compendium of the coming Dark Age_**

***

Her laughter was undocumented, unexpected. It was like that of a much younger woman, as if the perils and tribulations of time had left nary a mark upon her unspoiled soul. The Keeper basked in that laughter for many an hour, and he grew gloomy when their time on that rare sunny afternoon inevitably drew to a close.  
Keeper Mcclay, never wanted it to end. When he was around Sophie, his life-force was renewed. Keepers were such stodgy, conservative peacemakers. They did not believe in fate, as one might expect, but rather that all prophecies eventually round out to a calculated event. You can prepare, you can provoke. But you never just _are_. Even catalysts do not move forward without first being pushed.

He watched as Sophie started ahead of him, that brown cotton hood she always wore on their numerous outings guarding her sensitive skin from the sunlight. How he wished there was a way to allow her to bask! The thought of the woman he harbored such tender feelings for remaining locked away in darkness, or shrouded in a cloak like some ill omen, brought him deep anguish. She was so alive-so lucid. Creatures such as these, needed to find their way into the light.

_Somehow._

Sophie, had been pushing Mcclay, whether she realized it or not. She had been doing so for several long months now. He always knew that Alma no longer belonged in his heart, on this earth. She had perished years ago, and it was little more than a cruel folly that he clung so tightly to that wisp now. They had achieved their conjoined purpose-they had located and liberated their lost children. Ayeena and Nellarose were safe now, the years of separation and lost memories slowly beginning to reknit between them and their father like a most glorious patchwork quilt.

The heavy wrinkles beneath his eyes stretched off to the sides of his face as Keeper Mcclay began to frown. The past had claimed his dear wife, and there was no way to change that. He'd rectified all he could by finding his two children. Now, it was time to move forward. To let go.

As Sophie turned the corner, Keeper Mcclay allowed Alma to surface from his sleeve. The wisp bounced and hovered around his head for several moments, before he began to address her.

"My darling. The time has come for me to relinquish your soul to the heavens," he began, telepathically.

Another ill-gotten gift he'd received from the forbidden tomes, so many centuries ago. To think that the remaining Keepers still used these odious powers when augmenting Enforcers-hypocrisy within the order, had always been alive and well.

"My love," the beckoning ball of light twinkled against the mid-day sun. "Thank you. Thank you for helping me locate our children. My soul has been restless for so many years-caught in a torrent of guilt, and heartbreak over what might have come from my failure to protect them. But now, thanks to you my darling...now I can finally ascend. Finally rest."

"And I am glad of it," the ancient Keeper displayed a teary smile.

Alma bobbled and sparkled for a few moments, before conveying her thoughts into his mind once again.

"What about you? What will become of you when I go? Do you still believe that it is too late for you to die?" her spectral voice trembled, greatly concerned. Mcclay bowed his head, as if accepting this morbid possibility; though he already had many centuries ago.

"Precious, loving Alma. You have always been so good to me. And so I beseech you one final request: Do not fret over my well-being in the afterlife, darling Alma. Promise me this."

"I promise you, my dearest. I promise to move on with a fleet heart and weightless soul."

Upon hearing this statement, the Keeper raised his arms up to the sky, his bony fingers framing the wisp respectfully in place of a heartfelt embrace. Sunlight bathed his dark cowl, and his wise eyes glistened like amber. A few tears broke away, streaming down his face like a river, in bittersweet acceptance. His lips quivered as he opened them, and softly began to speak.

"Then I release you, my Alma. Ascend to the afterlife, and fret no more over the soul of this destroyed husk of a man."

The wisp spun about, travelling skyward. Soft sparkles and hints of midday dew showered down upon her once husband, creating a dazzling prism which left a peculiar spectrum of color all across his dull robes.

"Destroyed as you may be, it is never too late to pick up the shards of a shattered life. I have but one final request for you-find your happiness, Cedric Mcclay. Find a reason to live again."

The old man watched her climb ever higher, until there was nothing left of his precious Alma to be seen. Wiping his eyes, he released his hold on all things past.  
It felt so liberating, renewing. The Keeper said nothing as he picked up his pace-he was far too preoccupied with gathering up those broken shards. He would keep his promise to Alma-he could find happiness once more. And he knew just who it was, who held the key.

***

"Well, I had a marvelous time today," Sophie smiled, fishing out her key from between the folds of her cloak.

"As did I," the Keeper responded, watching her retrieve something small from her pocket. Sophie went to unlock the door, but a slight touch stopped her. She glanced up to see Keeper Mcclay, staring into her with deep adamancy.

"Cedric?" she asked, and the hand he was currently touching began to quake.

"Sophie. For as long as I can remember, I have loved you. I cannot tell you why I feel the way I do, nor when these sensations first began to pull at my heartstrings. But I have realized, over the myriad of years for which I have been struggling to survive in this maddening world, that some things, are simply without reason. They exist, and that is all we need know to feel comforted by their presence," he explained, trying to sound gentle. Keeper logic could indeed be frightening to outsiders, and Mcclay could already see the flustered feelings welling up within his companion's expression. He did not wish to further unnerve her.

"Cedric, you are a very nice man. And this is exactly why I don't think this is a good idea. I...I am not the sort of woman you should be giving your affections to. I have a dark history, and furthermore," she stopped herself, feeling as a lifetime of regret began to weigh upon her soul. Sophie visibly shivered, before facing him again. "I don't want to hurt you, Cedric."

Keeper Mcclay, was oddly demure and responsive to such rejection. He smiled, albeit sympathetically, and retracted his hand from hers.

"I understand, dear lady. But, have you indeed considered that by pushing away all chance of personal joy from your own life, you are only hurting yourself?"

Sophie's eyes flew open, her pupils contracting with slight tremors of harsh realization. For years now, she had been taking care of her brood-that seedy bunch of taffers whom she deemed family. But no one had been taking care of her. Furthermore, Sophie had neglected to even consider herself worthy of love and devotion. But now, with one simple question, this wise old Keeper had opened up a world of possibility, and promise within her mind.

She often wondered how they planted thoughts and ideas like that; especially within the minds of stubborn fools such as herself and Garrett. It wasn't manipulation-it was the reveal of truths which these close-minded souls desperately needed to see. Needed to know, if they were ever going to break free of the repetitive and vicious cycles that practically ruled their everyday lives. Some part of Sophie realized this was necessary. Perhaps that was why she allowed the Keeper to continue speaking.

"You deserve as much happiness as anyone else, m'lady. Please, permit me to give it to you," he offered, a gentleness reflected within his watery stare, as Sophie made eye contact with him.

"Cedric, I-"

Sophie didn't get to finish her sentence as Keeper Mcclay leaned forward, his lips connecting with hers. The moment they touched, she felt a synergy of warmth surge throughout her body, moving down her spine and flooding every neglected chasm of her being with an enigmatic, yet soothing blue light. She closed her eyes, feeling as the world around them seemed to slow to an inexorable crawl. The kiss eventually broke, leaving behind a smitten Sophie, and an admonished Keeper in it's wake.

Kissing a woman outright like that...it was disgraceful of any man. But a _Keeper_?! Centuries of solitude and study, yet he had allowed himself so easily to succumb to such frivolous and insipid behavior. What exactly had been awoken within him, since meeting Sophie?! Keeper Mcclay wasn't entirely sure, but he now regretted allowing it to ever perforate his judgement. He looked down at her, noticing how accepting she was of his most inappropriate actions. She was smiling, an aura of absolute contentment radiating from her flushed expression.

But in spite of all this, Mcclay was now apprehensive. Sophie, deserved better than a man who would take a kiss without her permission. He stepped forward, and gently pressed his forehead to Sophie's. It was a simple, solemn farewell. He gazed down at her through his mysterious, saddened brown eyes. The middle aged woman's smile melted at the sight of his forlorn face, and further still, as he stepped away. He had to leave quickly, before his emotions got the better of him.

"C-Cedric? What are you doing?"

"I should go..." was all he could manage, clearing the painful tears from his throat.

But to his surprise, Sophie rushed out in front of him, preventing his departure into the sunset-kissed streets. She threw her arms around him, sending Keeper Mcclay's own arms out to the sides of his body in disbelief.

"Stay with me tonight," she whispered, wrapping her arms tighter around the man she loved.

Gradually, Keeper Mcclay hugged her back. He buried the lower portion of his face into Sophie's messy brunette hair, and inhaled a deep whiff of her earthy scent. The sunset broke over The City, bathing the two in a temporary sheen of golden luster before dusk engulfed the world.  
And the old Keeper, did stay.

***

When the Keeper returned from his secret rendezvous the following evening, it was completely dark within his hideout. Mcclay crept like a phantom past the dreaming bedsides of his guests and wards alike, until reaching his inner sanctum. It was carefully concealed with a glyph-a door impenetrable to those who could not see such things. No one within his little hideout, could. Not unless he willed it.

As he glided his ancient fingers against the smooth gleaming symbol, a tiny shuffle found his ears. Faint like the whisper of a sprite, or the hesitant tiptoe of a mouse. It would have been unnoticed, had Keeper Mcclay not been a master of the art of sensory. He turned around, facing the darkened tunnel he'd just traversed.

"Hello?" he beckoned.

There was neither apprehension, nor malice within his voice. If the lurking one was indeed a friend, Mcclay did not wish to alarm them. And if they were foe, he could more easily destroy them if no emotion betrayed his words.

She came out from hiding, her eyes riddled with a deep unknown. The closer Gwenevere came to the enigmatic Keeper, the further her heart plummeted into her stomach. She was in short, terrified to ask him about what had been learned. But she knew that he had loaned out that tome for a very good reason. The nymph was just unsure as to what reason this could possibly be. When her form was but two feet from the wizened elder, Gwenevere heard herself gulp.

"K-Keyper Mcclay?" she began with an obvious stammer of terror.

"Yes, young Gwenevere?"

"Can I...can I come in?" she asked, shuffling her boots against the damp earth. The Keeper nodded, and opened the door to his room.

"Indeed. My door is always open to a curious mind," he mused.

Gwenevere said nothing. She didn't even smile. This unnerved him, more than anything. Standing there, so awkward and unsure in those gloomy tunnels, Gwenevere resembled a forlorn spirit. A revenant, doomed to wander the abandoned tunnels of those whom had since perished long ago-their search to locate the Last Mother fruitless, and miserable. As if she knew, Gwenevere's eyes had lost all luster.

Dyan and the others had eventually trailed her to Auldale, but they had never managed to pinpoint Simmons as the kidnapper; the priestesses dreams taking a wild spiral in the direction of the wayward hag instead. For years, they waited, taking up a semi-permanent residence in one of the local parks. During perhaps some of the darkest moments of her life, Gwenevere's people had been mere blocks from her rescue. The irony was cruel, indeed.

"Please, have a seat," the Keeper motioned. Gwenevere did so, and he joined her, taking up the adjacent chair.

Mcclay's eyes were like that of a kindly earth spirit now. Her fear had clinched his earlier worries regarding just what this act of sneaking might be about. He had known this would happen-once she finished the journal. Still, he held his ground, and prepared for the questions and concerns which were sure to follow.

"Now, whatever do you wish to speak of, child?"

"I...I have decided not to become an interpreter," she stated, puffing out her little chest. "Furthermore I...I don't want to help you translate any more tomes." Keeper Mcclay released a deep sigh, and nodded.

"I see..." he looked positively forlorn. "Any reason why?"

He locked eyes with her, allowing Gwenevere to watch his face droop and wither like a fading lily. He seemed so emotional, yet there was clearly a control there as well. As if the Keeper could fluidly choose what to feel, and when to express it. Though she was unsure, this display of such obvious restraint prompted the nymph vigilante to speak her mind.

"Keyper Mcclay? Are all Keypers like that? What I read about on the last page I mean," she bravely inquired.

All light seemed to recede from the hooded man's ancient eyes. Memories of another place, another time-crept throughout his mind like a fleet of hungry spiders. A woman with long, flowing white hair. She was still young, but the glyphs had aged her fast. She trembled as she traversed that forbidden tomb with her three male companions, her gait and posture that of a decaying old woman, though her birth year marked her as merely thirty-three.

Bloody screams. Pain far worse mentally than physically, as close friend betrayed them all. Turned wicked foe before the wide eyes of the man he had tried so hard to shun and forget. This unwitting fool of a man, shamefully titled a Keeper, remembered watching his two friends drained of youth-and inevitably life-by that woman. He'd harbored such trust towards Gamall; perhaps even the slightest hint of infatuation and hero worship, given her wisdom, and plentiful talents. But now, all Keeper Vandolyn-now Mcclay-could see, was a misshapen, horrible monster.

"Gwenevere. Every soul is an individual. But group mentalities often tend to corrupt the masses."

His answer was vague, dark. Perhaps this was intentional. Perhaps not. Gwenevere locked eyes with him, and what she said next, caused a visible chill to traverse her spine.

"Are...are _you_ like that?"

"What do you think?" he whispered. It was half wise, half desperate. Because in all actuality, Keeper Mcclay wasn't sure anymore.

Was it merely foolishness and greed which had laid his friends to waste on that horrific day? Was it a mere mistake? And if so, why had he stood idly by for so many centuries? Why had he fled his order to join the Pagans, choosing to hide away, while his once friend wreaked unseen darkness and havoc unto his fellow Keepers. Perhaps Gwenevere's wonderings held more truth than even _he_ was ready to face. Perhaps there was indeed a darkness brewing within him, even now. There is no greater shame, than cowardice.

The little nymph frowned, her eyes shimmering like two green torches amidst the darkness.

"It is not my place to judge you, Mcclay. But if what I have seen is indeed your true nature, then I can now see why you choose to detach yourself from the others."

Her answer was forgiving, which was truthfully unexpected-given what he'd subjected her mind to with that book.

"There are good Keepers, young Gwenevere. Keepers such as Artemus, Garrett's mentor," the Keeper offered, allowing the emotion to well up within his throat. "He fought against both the council, and his own emotions many a time on that boy's behalf. It is because of his dedication and compassion, that your thief still yet lives."

The nymph grew somber, respectfully so. Even her breathing slowed, as if out of a deep desire to honor such actions.

"Keyper Mcclay?" she piped softly.

"Yes, child?"

"Garrett never speaks of Artemus. What happened to him?" Gwenevere asked. Mcclay turned away, feeling his hands begin to quiver.

"He was murdered," the words came out like cold wind rushing its way through a lead pipe. Hollow, and agonizing. The nymph gasped, cupping a hand to her mouth in deep regret. Her eyes swam with tears.

"I-I'm sorry! I didn't know..."

"It is alright, child," the elder replied in a forlorn tone which led Gwenevere to immediately realize that it indeed wasn't. She took a deep breath, letting it exit slowly from her burgundy lips. Upon calming herself, Gwenevere removed her hat.

"Is that why Garrett never talks about him? Or do you know?" she inquired, trying to sound respectful.

"I think there is much regret in Garrett's heart, and I think he does not know how to cope with such a feeling," Mcclay muttered, eyes lost, and breath still caught up in his throat like a frayed ribbon. "It is only when you are brave enough to accept that which can never be fixed, that you can begin to repair a shattered life. Your thief, has yet to do so."

There was a strange pity in his words, as if Keeper Mcclay truly wished that he could do so much more for Garrett. But it was not his place, nor was it Gwenevere's, and she knew that. Somewhere deep down, Gwenevere now understood that the only one who could truly make her thief happy, was himself.

"But what do you do, when someone tries to fix what isn't even broken?" she asked. Mcclay turned to her, his expression inquisitive.

"Now, that would be rather foolish, would it not?"

"Yes," Gwenevere suddenly blushed. "But the reason I asked, is because Garrett is always insisting that I am doing things wrong. He thinks this entire vigilante goal of mine is a joke, and he thinks I...I belong to him. I really love him, Keyper Mcclay. But I can't stand to be around him when he's like that-which is almost constantly."

"Gwenevere. What the thief states is indeed true-you do need to learn caution," he hesitated, licking his upper lip before finishing. "But Garrett needs to learn to trust you."

The little nymph nodded. She had always enjoyed speaking to Keeper Mcclay; coming to him in her darkest hour to have all woes and fear lifted from her heart. He was wise beyond measure in her eyes, caring and affectionate in a way like no other male Gwenevere had yet encountered. When she was around the Keeper, when she would ask questions like this and learn from him, Gwenevere felt...safe. Cherished. It was a feeling similar to that which always seemed to occur when she was around Sophie, but in several ways, it was also very unique. The nymph straightened her hat back atop her head, and shook her bangs.

"You're absolutely right, Keyper Mcclay. You always are," she giggled. "I have been trying to be more careful out there. Derick, Ayeena and the others-they have all been so supportive and helpful of me. I guess I just wished that Garrett would be too..."

"Gwenevere," Mcclay stood, and walked up to her. "We must all leave a mark on the grand tapestry we call life. Never allow the opinions or actions of another to guide your strokes."

Gwenevere shivered in the musty darkness, as she gawked up at her beloved guide and guardian through entranced eyes. The nymph had never even _considered_ any of that! If she indeed had the chance to leave one solitary mark on the world, what would it be? In her short lifetime, Gwenevere had met so many wonderful elements; both human and animal. The thought of them all being interconnected like a multitude of tiny threads-it fascinated her.

"I want to help as many souls as I possibly can," she proclaimed.

"As I expected," Mcclay smiled. "If this is truly your wish, then you must promise yourself to do everything within your power to do so."

"I-I will," Gwenevere's brows furrowed, and she gave a quick, determined little nod. "I promise!"

"I have no doubt that you shall succeed in your aspirations, young Gwenevere," Mcclay smiled, his face lighter now.

"Thank you," the little nymph blushed again.

"Tell me. When your seeds do indeed sprout, where will you go? Where do you intend for your offspring to stay?"

Gwenevere was caught off-guard by his unexpected forwardness, but she didn't allow it to show. Instead, she tapped her thin fairy fingers against her exposed knee for a time, contemplating an answer. It was a necessary inquiry, a problem which needed to be solved post haste. When her spawn eventually clambered out of their pots, she wanted them to be bathed in sunlight, rather than the shadowy confines of an abandoned mine.

"I've thought about going back to my father's old place. No one goes near it, and the spirits and plants within recognize me still."

"I see," Keeper Mcclay nodded. "And what of your eternal mate, your thief? Will he rejoin you?"

He watched as Gwenevere visibly cringed at the question.

"I don't know. I don't think he likes it there," Gwenevere weakly joked, already knowing the answer. "I wanted to go back to Nethalzia you know; just have a peaceful life without all of this fighting and stealing."

"Garrett's nature compels chaos, ergo that seems very unlikely," the Keeper countered.

"As I've become well aware," Gwenevere started to laugh. "Funny. I always thought chaos was more my thing-father being who he was and all..."

Keeper Mcclay straightened his posture, feeling unsteady all of a sudden. He could barely remember this girl-this, chosen child, though he had been there. He had always, been there. When the others deemed it necessary to deal with her father, he had watched on in silence, never letting on as Viktoria howled and wept over his loss, small green babe clutched tightly to her ligneous bosom as if this failed miracle was truly all she had left. Perhaps, events like that unforgettable night of mournful cries and gnashing fangs, were what spurred the Conscripted One from their midst, following the eventual fall of Karras.

He could not remain within the Pagan wood. Not after all they had lost, when he could have so easily prevented it. So easily warned them. His loyalty was always torn between those he served, and those his ancestors had made an ancient pact with long ago. But for whatever reason, the Keeper side of him-the side which yearned to see the world balanced and made right-always endured. The Pagans, for all their energy and often unforgiving savagery, were a good people. But good intentions, did not always equal what was best for the earth as a whole.

"Gwenevere. Regarding your decision against becoming an interpreter..." he hesitated, eyes transfixed upon the tender layer of tilled soil at his feet. "Tell me, was it due to what you have learned of the Keepers?"

The nymph's smile, grew gentle and reassuring. Much to his surprise, Gwenevere clasped her tiny hand around Keeper Mcclay's wrinkled and bony digits.

"No. It wasn't that at all, Keyper Mcclay. I have just decided to learn about life in my own way. I want to become stronger and smarter, sure! But what would be the point in doing so artificially? What can truly be gained?"

He was pleased by her unexpected maturity. When the Keeper had first began observing her, shortly after the energies and karma had begun to shift within the world once more, she had been anything but. Childish, clumsy, far too naive for even a girl her age. The last forest nymph on earth had been completely dependent on a brooding thief for her every need. Now, SHE was changing the needs of many-for the better.  
_  
It would seem that you have bloomed before our very eyes, haven't you?_ he smiled warmly.

But the pendulum swings yet. Both factions, greenwood and machine, will again strive against each other and the world will turn between them. All will be darkness and shadow, and the future shall be unwritten forever. So states the ancient prophecy. And as they sat there, facing one another in undisrupted solitude, Keeper Mcclay began to wonder if perhaps Gwenevere was the one who could stop that pendulum-and bring peace at last.  
_  
Our Last Mother, our last hope. The last hope for all. More study is required..._


	80. Chapter 80

She had forgotten what a wonderful thing Summer in the woodlands could be. Gwenevere was hasty to kick off her knee-length boots and allow her tiny toes to wriggle and tap against the warm dewy grass. The sunlight felt warm too, raining down its comforting zest to weave a crescent halo of light into her untamed red hair. Cicadas buzzed and protested, their loud symphony welcomed by the hungry birds. Squirrels and deer scampered about in the mid-afternoon sun, watching the estranged little nymph, but never daring to chance too close. Gwenevere had been playing human too long, it would seem. They no longer recognized her as a Trickster's maiden.

The animal's reaction did little to bother her. Like all nymphs, she was loyal and devoted to a specified group-a magical world. But Gwenevere was the first of her kind to chose the enemies world, and the cityheads who dwelled within. The forest did not understand, and it was quickly beginning to denounce her. At this rate, she was beginning to fear the uncertainty of losing her magic. Her lying flesh would be shed just as surly as the cicada shells which littered the mossy forest floor. And when that day eventually came-the forest would no longer be her friend.

Today however, she chose to dwell not on her future, but rather that of the Growers. Gwenevere and her Merry Thugs, now found themselves amidst that quaint and simple little hamlet, the Saturday workload made easier by their hands. Dawson had tears in his eyes when he first observed the ruby-maned nymph leading her band of vigilantes up over the lazy hillside, though he fought to hide them amidst his sweltering cheeks and brow.

"Ya'll have come," he nodded, removing his rancher hat.

"I never go back on my word, Dawson," Gwenevere's response was accompanied by a haphazard grin.

"Well yer honesty does the prophecies a great service then," the farmer added.

"Stop," she warned, her grin crumbling. "I already made myself clear-I am _not_ here as your goddess. I am simply one who wishes to help your people."

Dawson scowled at her, muttering something about the gods being fickle under his breath. The Grower Leader only grew hospitable again, when he caught sight of Ayeena and Nellarose coming up from behind Gwenevere.

"Ayeena! Nellarose!" he ran to embrace them both. "It is good to have you back with us."

"It is great to return, revered leader," Nellarose added, eyes all joy and sunlight.

"Bes us wanters to comes sooner, but had bes helpers Gwenevere first," Ayeena commented, wrapping her arm around her best friend's shoulders. The nymph looked back at her, and her smile returned.

"I'm grateful for everything you did for my cause, Ayeena," Gwenevere gushed, although there was definite sadness intertwined amidst her words. She knew that when the day ended, only Derick and Tobias would be heading back to Keeper Mcclay's hideout with her. Ayeena and her sister had decided to return to their own home.

It was a decision which while bittersweet, was far more practical and proactive. They would remain active members of Gwenevere's resistance, but would also be able to protect their kin against any other possible attacks initiated by Father Volkorn. It bothered everyone, that neither he nor Lady Lilithia had been heard from publicly in quite a while. Even Timothy Woksworth had very little information pertaining to their plots and plans. The attorney had at least informed Gwenevere of their plot to capture and burn her. The little nymph still shuddered at the very thought. The more eyes and ears she spread around The City, would also benefit her own safety-Ayeena had practically insisted on it.

"How are the legs workin' out for ya?" Dawson asked, taking notice of how fluidly Ayeena walked.

"Bes wondersome," she responded. Derick felt his chest tighten, when the Pagan cast an unexpected smile over her shoulder at him. "I bes most gladsy for thems goodsie works."

"M-my pleasure m'lady!" he saluted, though it was a completely ridiculous gesture to give at such a moment. Ayeena pursed her lips, raising a condescending eyebrow at such strange behavior, before returning her attention to Dawson. The Hammerite felt his heart plummet into his stomach.

_Am I a complete fool?!_ he chastised himself, clenching his teeth.

None of his friends took notice of this embarrassment, their attention drawn instead to the tattered remains of the Grower's fields and homes. The High Priests attack had been devastating-even months later. The earth-dwellers still had yet to fully recover. Grateful were they, that this had only been a singular invasion.

"Would be much obliged fer any help ya'll can offer," Dawson shoved his hands into the deep pockets of his overalls.

"What needs the most attention?" Gwenevere inquired, thoughtfully.

"Welp, 'spose that would be the people, their homes, and the livestock ta be honest," the leader replied.

Gwenevere looked out over the grand expanse of dilapidated homes, farms, and fences. To an ignorant eye, it would appear that the land was merely re-claiming what was rightfully hers-an abandoned settlement, her creators scattered to the winds.

This would indeed be the case, were it not for the many Growers who still struggled to rebuild every day. These, were truly an adamant, honorable people. Watching them, the nymph felt a certain pang of deep guilt. Remorse for what might have been-had she chosen to follow her true path, and reign over them. But it was far, far too late for any of that now. Her god blood had been spilt by a benevolent rival's holy blade, rendering her practically useless to these proud farmers now. A nymph who played human, had no place within a world of such disciplined, practical people. But even still, when she turned around to speak to her companions, the little nymph's eyes held hope. For what, she couldn't be sure. It was like inspiration, but in only the vaguest sense.

"Our plan is to help these people, first and foremost," she decreed. "Derick, you're a strong fellow who knows a thing or two about proper structures," she complimented.

"Indeed I do, ma'am!" the Hammerite agreed, grateful for her kindness.

"You can aid Dawson with the re-building."

"Right away!"

"Ayeena! You can assist with the harvesting and re-planting of what little food remains unspoiled by flames," the vigilante leader instructed.

"Bes my pleasure!" her best friend gave a slight, yet sincere nod.

"Nellarose! You've always been great with Erin's burrick. Do you think you can help tend to the injured animals?"

"It's what I've always wanted to do!" the young farm girl proclaimed. Finally, Gwenevere, turned to face Tobias.

"You're with me, Toby!" she winked.

"I-indeed," he gulped. "M-may I ask what we'll be doing?"

The skittish man tensed when Gwenevere clasped both of her hands over his frail shoulders.

"We're gonna take care of the injured humans! Come on-no need to be shy!" she giggled.

"That's easy for you to say..." the Keeper acolyte murmured.

"Well then!" Dawson clapped his hands together, feeling rather satisfied. "I 'spose that covers it! Ya'll just go on ahead and start takin' care of that-we're very much obliged!"

There was nothing genuine in his words, and the way he started off down the hill without Derick, left Gwenevere with a bitterness on her tongue that lingered there for the majority of the day. Leader or not, Dawson still had much to learn about taking care of others, and respecting their individual needs and feelings. And sympathy, was certainly high on that list.

_He's almost as rude as Garrett..._ she couldn't help but think, and the comparison made her smirk.

At least the thief conducted himself with a certain style. Truly in her mind, everything Garrett did was an art form. She couldn't wait to observe his artistry in action once again.

A medical ward is no place for an innocent. Especially one so rudimentary, pieced together with tarps and slanted beams that pierced their way through the charred earth. There were no screens separating the wounded-it was a luxury that the battle-ravaged farm folk could not afford. They were a peaceful folk, after all. No one could have predicted such a brutal, relentless purge. And Gwenevere, could not have prepared herself enough for its carnage.

So much suffering, so much lost hope echoed within the shadowy confines of that place like an aria of deepest tragedy. There was nothing she could do, but feel as her knees grew weak and unstable-reflections of the green, sapling of a creature she undeniably still was. Everyone believed her to be maturing, growing older and wiser. But the little nymph knew differently. Trees took centuries to grow large and majestic. Magical woodland women, took even longer. Gwenevere was still very much a child-and what she saw that day, was not for a child's eyes to behold.

Gwenevere had very few, hazy recollections of what could best be described as a denied war. After the forest had been torched, purged, bloodied by the Mechanists, her mother had decreed it as such. But even with the help of her loyal agents, subjects, and of course, her good thief, such a declaration resolved without a true battle. Viktoria had hoped for an ancient showdown, like those between the Hammerites and Pagans in times forgotten by those who did not possess an eternal memory. In those days, both factions charged inward at one another, each lead by a very visible, very vengeful, living god. It must have been quite a sight to behold, Gwenevere had always thought.

But while the little nymph had yet to experience such a passionate and vicious battle in motion, she now found herself looking into the pallid, watery eyes, of those who had been devastated by such.

Limbs-no, stumps-were far more commonplace than she would have considered. There were also a fair share of mangled arms and torsos as well. Skin and facial burns from the numerous cannon blasts, which had deformed some Growers beyond recognition. But what caused the nymph's heart to freeze and plummet dead into her churning stomach, was the fact that not all of these victims were strong, adult warriors.

Most, were children.

Her face the embodiment of complete horror, Gwenevere began to consider for the first time during her rebellious mission, if Garrett had indeed been right about her. Because at that moment, she did indeed feel like her mind was being poisoned with far too much terrible information. Taffing babies, no older than perhaps six or seven, covered in deep gashes and oozing brown puss from multiple lacerations. Innocent souls, did not know how to react to such pain, such trauma. They could not process all of it-this included Gwenevere.

She saw them all at once-mangled, writhing creatures in so much pain, that their language had reverted to that of their primitive ancestors-screams, howls, moans and groans of hopelessness and agony. Gwenevere must have begun to tremble at some point early on, because Tobias of all people, threw his arms around her, and squeezed the little nymph as hard as he could. He was still positively terrified of her, which made the gesture all the more kind.

She crumbled helplessly into his arms, yet somehow the gangly acolyte managed to keep them both upright. Although she did not realize that she was doing it, for the first time, Gwenevere began sobbing like a nymph-not a human girl. She sounded like a multitude of ailing wildlife: bawling mother bears who'd just lost their cubs, whimpering wolves caught in traps. Confused ravens locked in cages, hissing lynx, and by far the most disturbing-the unnatural frantic cries of doomed rabbits.

Throughout all of this, Tobias never let her fall.

His bravery and collected nature would have pleased Keeper Mcclay profusely-if only the ancient master had of been there to witness it.

"Gwenevere," Tobias began, in that unsure quiver of a voice. "You must compose yourself! These people need you to remain collected."

The nymph stared up at him through vivacious, sorrowful eyes. Sap was welling again at the corners-Gwenevere might as well have been crying blood. She somehow managed to look around at the injured Growers, and those already attending to them. They were all watching her, completely mortified. She gulped, suddenly feeling very ashamed for how she was acting.

Garrett, had taught her better than this. Even if this was the most horrible thing she had yet to witness during the course of her young life, she could not allow herself to fall apart. Thieves plied their tools to be unbreakable, and so had the world's greatest moonlighter plied his apprentice in the same fashion.  
Gwenevere, refused to let him down.

"I-I'm sorry," she sniffed, hastily patting her eyes dry with the back of her gloves. "I will not allow it to happen again."

As she started towards the numerous bloody cots, the Keeper's boy reached out and shakily tapped her shoulder. Gwenevere turned around, and smiled at him.

"Tobias?"

"Are...are you going to be okay, Gwennie?"

The nymph felt her heart grow warm. This was the very first time Tobias had ever been so enduring towards her. Her eyes shimmered, threatening to release more tears-but of a completely different nature this time. However, she held onto them, and instead embraced the young man within her loving arms.

"So long as you're here, Tobias, I think I will manage."

As she made her way around the cots of the fallen, each Grower who could still see gazed upon her with wide eyes. Most did not know of her lost power just yet-or at least, they deluded themselves into pretending not to. In their minds, a savior, a rarified living god, now walked amongst them. Blessing them with her very presence.  
At that moment, Gwenevere wished that she had become a goddess. She would have given anything to heal these people-to unmake their life-altering injuries. To remake their lands and lives.

There had been so much rush and pressure when the decision was presented. The ancient temple keeper, the forest herself, and of course, Dawson. Gwenevere had no choice in the end, but she did not harbor any ill-will over the thief's liberation of her soul. However, she did blame herself. If she had of been the woman she was now, then perhaps, a more enlightened Gwenevere could have made a much more beneficial decision.

But remorse had no place here-not amongst those who had lost more than the nymph could ever know. This moment, was for them.

She could not heal them-her waning magic was barely powerful enough to keep the human flesh mirage clinging weakly to her body. And even if she could, there were so many! Even if she could, Gwenevere knew that absorbing that much pain would inevitably kill her. Besides, she only had two legs, two arms. Every injury she would absorb, would have to register upon her person-and there were so many more lost limbs than that.

Instead, she walked from bedside to bedside, stopping and crouching before each victim of Father Volkorn's ruthless attack. When they would beg for The Last Mother's blessing, Gwenevere would offer only what she could-a simple, yet honest kiss upon each of their foreheads.

As she continued to make her rounds, a familiar voice called out for her.

"It would seem that you have returned to your people, my dear."

Gwenevere shot up from an unconscious man's forehead, and spun around to lock eyes with her old nanny. Or as she was known deep within the recesses of that dystopian city-The Queen of Beggars.

"Nana!" the nymph exclaimed with absolute glee, running towards the blind old woman with her arms held open wide.

The white-haired crone smiled, her wrinkled lips stretching to form a toothless smile. She gave a soft, warm laugh, as Gwenevere propelled herself inward for a generous hug.

"It is good to see you again, my child," there was strong emphasis on the word, 'good'.

Gwenevere nuzzled her cheek against the old woman's faded garments and furs, that familiar floral perfume she always wore acting as a strong comfort against all the hells of that place.

"How have you been?" she bleated merrily, the sound reminiscent of a contented lamb. "I'm sorry I haven't been visiting much. Garrett and I had to leave town for a while."

"There is no need for any of that, dearie," the queen reassured, gently lifting Gwenevere's face from her shoulder. She gave the nymph a rather sloppy kiss upon the cheek. "I am well aware of all the good you have been accomplishing throughout The City, and I couldn't be more proud of you, my darling. You have a life now, and that is all I ever wanted for you."

"Oh nan," Gwenevere smirked, touching at her face. Her fingers came away red-much like the lipstick her old guardian was currently wearing.

"So? Where is your thief now, my dear? Is he here?" The Queen of Beggars inquired. Gwenevere frowned.

"No. He and I...well, we're fighting again nan," the nymph confessed.

The sightless white eyes of the old woman still managed to convey a deep sympathy, despite now being devoid of any visible pupils.

"Is that so? I am deeply sorry, child."

"I-it's alright!" Gwenevere reassured, not wishing to worry her. "We're getting it worked out now. I'm going to see him again real soon actually."

"It is always good to see your optimism, Gwenevere. You have always had such a beautiful energy, little deer," the crone smiled.

"Aww, shucks," Gwenevere blushed. "Thank you! So, what brings you here nana? Won't your subjects miss you?"

The Queen of Beggars grew forlorn, all happiness and color seemingly vanishing from her weathered face. She looked off to the side, her eyebrows slanted and her leathery lips trembling.

"I...have left them. It is better this way, you see?"

"I don't understand," Gwenevere was frowning too now, visibly concerned. The queen looked her dead in the eyes.

"Gwenevere. This is to be my last Summer on this earth. I am about to die."

Gwenevere's mouth went dry as these words registered within her mind. A surreal state of denial overtook her, the young girl's entire body growing uncomfortably numb. As her pupils retracted into a sea of impossible green and untouchable gold, she shivered. Before she realized what she was doing, the nymph was on her knees, sobbing like mad into her nanny's lap.

"But you can't!" she whispered, sniffling. When the old woman remained frozen, Gwenevere's head jolted up from her lap to reveal the desperate, pain-stricken grief within her eyes. "Nana you can't die!"

Without further provocation, the total emotional anguish of that harrowing day took its toll on the nymph, and she exploded into cold, bitter tears.

Before her next breath, a bony hand and five elongated nails cupped themselves around the nymph's pale cheek. Gwenevere lifted her face and immersed her livid celadon eyes into those of forgotten history, and dying luster. The Queen of Beggars held her like that for a moment, allowing the silence to knit and grow between them. Then, when it had thoroughly covered the crying nymph, sedating her gently into a state of tranquility and intrigue, the ancient monarch began to speak.

"Hush now, my darling girl," she cooed. "I am at the end of my life, child-this is the inevitable truth. But I leave content, and I leave grateful in the knowledge that you are still here; protecting and saving this city in ways that I could not even fathom. I have seen and done all that I am able to in this world. But you...your journey is just beginning."

Gwenevere was silent-half optimistic, and half already broken. Her heart was threatening to tear itself in half, her world was tilted and grey from all of the stress and devastation she'd witnessed beneath that blood-splattered haven. But as she continued to sit there, staring up into the forgotten face of a disheveled once-maid, the nymph realized why the old woman yet smiled. Death, was a new beginning too.

It was a constant working order, creatures and their souls moving in tandem through the arduous, often morose stages of existence. Gwenevere was not quite sure how she came to this epiphany. Was this the influence of her denied godhood seeping through into conscious thought? Power of life and death were to be hers, had fate and father not been challenged by a meticulous shadow in a dark cloak.

Whatever the reason, Gwenevere now understood why death was necessary. The order of the universe demanded sacrifice. Seeds could not sprout upon ground already occupied by withered and barren plants. Her protector, had sewn the soil for change-for rebirth. Now, it was up to Gwenevere to set down her creeping vines, take root, and grow.

"I won't let you down-I swear it."


	81. Chapter 81

The mid-afternoon reminded him of working deep within the Hammerite factory, tending to the forges and bellows for days on end. It felt good, to be doing something so constructive again. Each bead of sweat was like a token of satisfaction, bringing the most subtle relief unto his rigorous labors; and the heavy resistance of the grand wooden structure only drove him to work even harder.  
Working amoungst these Growers, was a surprise indeed. But though not of the order, they were driven, hard-working folk. Dawson wasn't alone in assisting the Hammerite with the rebuilding. There were dozens of burly, tanned men and women beside him as they tugged and hoisted the third wall of the barn upright.

The group groaned and cheered in unison as the structure stood sound, wiping their brows upon arms and handkerchiefs. A young girl, barely twelve, approached Derick and offered him a glass of something yellow. He took it graciously, but thirsty as he was, he did not drink. The color was odd-yellow. It wasn't water, and it wasn't wine. Derick took a slight sniff, and a refreshing citrus scent found his nostrils.

"Aw, calm yerself stranger," an older man with a bushy grey beard chortled at the Hammer's apprehension. "It's just lemonade."

"Lemonade?" Derick blinked. "The aid of thy lemon?"

"Somethin' like that, yeah!" the Grower laughed, his old grey eyes gleeful and honest.

Derick was too parched from his labors to require further explanation. He guzzled the sweet yet sour concoction readily. It was so refreshing-seemingly the perfect respite for such a hard day's work. The Hammerite looked back down at the child, and smiled.

"My thanks, young one."

While drinking, Derick spotted Ayeena tending to the garden by one of the few remaining farmhouses. He finished his lemonade, and started towards her. She was so absorbed within her own work, that the Pagan wouldn't have even noticed his approach-had it not been for the kindly older woman who waved at the Hammerite as he sauntered closer. Ayeena turned around, and frowned.

"Oh. It just bes you..."

"How is the gardening going?" Derick asked, brushing off her rude greeting.

"You bes wanters me to explains? Why? Hammerheads bes no understanders growsie things!" she snapped.

"I just had hoped-"

"-NO! You bes goings back to thems building works. Leave thems growsie matters to Pagans and Growers."

Derick Garrision sighed hard. There was clearly no getting through to her, no matter how hard he tried. Ayeena snorted, stood upon her new legs, and stomped off into the cornfield, leaving Derick in the presence of the friendly old woman from before. Sarah Landon. She was sitting in a rocking chair upon her porch, the brilliant hues of sunlight weaving their way through her grey hair, turning it silver.

"It's hot today, dear. Come and sit down for a spell," she spoke to him, gently patting at the chair beside her own.

Derick sighed, watching as Ayeena disappeared from sight. The barn was up, and the others seemed to be taking their mid-afternoon breaks as well, following its completion. A bit reluctantly, the Hammerite situated himself into the fine wicker chair, hoping that such an ornate thing wouldn't mindlessly splinter under the full weight of his muscles and armor.

Thankfully, it did not.

"You look like you got somethin' on yer mind, hun," Sarah commented.

"Doust I?" The Hammerite asked, wiping strands of dripping persistent sweat from his hair and deep crimson coif.

"Why yes-after all, it's rather obvious. What with the way yer lookin' at her..."

Derick's cheeks became several shades brighter than the reddish color which his long toiling hours of construction had already managed to emblazon across his face.

"I have no idea of which you speak, old woman," he grunted, refusing to make eye contact with the elderly farmer's grinning expression.

"Honey, I may be old, but aye certainly not dim. Now maybe you don't know you're doin' it, but your eyes were locked on her the whole time."

The usually bold Hammerite gulped, looked most unsure. He turned to the decrepit old Grower woman, wondering what her next words would be. Trying in a kept desperation to gauge her reaction, and emotion to this most taboo of subject material. At that moment, he felt beyond relieved that this woman was at least a Grower. Had the soul situated next to him been a Pagan or fellow Hammerite, Derick Garrision's panic would have been easily tenfold. As if sensing his inner discomfort, Sarah Landon reached out and gently put a wrinkled hand on his knee.

"Now now, I don't want you frettin' none. I didn't mean anythin' by it. If you have any feelings for Ayeena, that's your business. I won't judge neither you nor her for whatever you two feel for each other. You've gotta follow your heart. I've always figured love is a complicated thing."

"She doesn't know," he began. Derick stared up at the old woman silently, completely unable to move even an inch. "How...how do I tell her how I feel?"

"You'll find a way. Don't worry. But soon as you figure out just how to say it, you'd best do so. It's not something you want to keep bottled up inside, hun."

"But I am a Hammerite! Ayeena is-"

"A Pagan? That sure hasn't stopped you from takin' yer infatuation with her this far," Sarah Landon commented, a strange wisdom glinting within her eyes.

"Perhaps this means...that I am not a true Hammer..."

Derick shuddered at the possibility, but the evidence was nonnegotiable. After all, would a true Hammer allow themselves to harbor such strong feelings and desires over one of the enemy faction?  
Love itself, was often frowned upon within the order, and especially amoungst the higher ranking Hammerites. Those who had been promoted to such a coveted status, (as Derick had by Father Volkorn), were expected to commit their hearts fully to The Builder. Not even contact with Anvils was permitted. Love and sex were forbidden to those who manifested holy enlightenment.

Sensing his inner turmoil, the elderly Grower patted his knee. It was a soft, loving gesture, displayed as if Derick was a small boy. Not condescending-just concerned.

"You know dear boy, I was once a devoted member of the Hammerite order myself," she revealed.

"You...were?!" Derick gawked, "but...Mrs. Landon...you are a Grower..."

"And you are a rogue Hammer, what some would call a blasphemer, or a heretic. What's the difference? We have both left the traditional road to pursue enlightenment."

"How exactly were you ever affiliated with the Order of the Hammer?" he pressed.

"I was an Anvil," Mrs. Landon nodded with pride, and perhaps a bit of nostalgia. "My husband, Jerimiah Landon, a Pagan boy I rescued from death. When the High Priest found out what I had done, I was sentenced to burn as a symbol of my slander unto The Builder. But my Jerimiah came back for me in my hour of need. It is because of a kindness repaid, and the connection we forged, that I still live."

"And you founded the Growers together," Derick mused, a twinkle in his eye.

"Yes. We decided to take the good from two bad factions, and make something new and beautiful. The key to life is compromise, my boy. Co-existence," Sarah commented with a wrinkled grin.

"I am beginning to understand why your people revere Gwenevere as a goddess. Co-existence. That's all m'lady seems to talk about," he chuckled, but could not mask the awe and sincerity in his words.  
"Well, she's a wise one, that Gwenevere. Folks don't understand why she chose not to ascend, but as in all things, my withered old heart knows that there must always be a reason. Maybe you should contemplate that-and what it means for you and Ayeena," the old crone winked.

With that, Sarah left the comforting shade of her porch to check on the village children, leaving Derick alone. He was glad that Ayeena remained out of sight for the remainder of their time on the Grower Compound. The Hammer figured that just looking at her would turn his stoic demeanor into bubbling jelly. For the rest of the day, he couldn't focus his mind or hammer on any sort of worthwhile construction or chores.

For Derick Garrision's heart, was now completely enraptured with that firebrand Pagan.

***

**THE CITY:  
THAT NIGHT:**

Their group felt empty without Ayeena and Nellarose.

As the remaining members of Gwenevere's little revolution returned to the balmy city that evening, Derick Garrision couldn't help but feel a bit unnerved. His conversation with Sarah Landon had certainly gotten him thinking, but there was still so much yet to be considered. His mind was slipping, as questions and foreign concepts gunked up its inner-workings like leaky tar. He wanted to pursue this new enlightenment, this new insight. But the world seemed darker now than ever before.

"Keeper Mcclay wishes for me to procure dinner," Tobias proclaimed, as the group reached Stonemarket.

"Okay! See you later then, Tobias!" Gwenevere nodded, waving goodbye. "Thanks for everything you did today."

"Ah! It was a pleasure!" the scrawny young man flushed at her compliment. He stumbled as he took off down the road in the direction of the local grocer. Gwenevere and Derick were left alone for the first time since her dramatic reveal.

He appeared apprehensive to her, but not with her presence. Gwenevere tilted her head to the side, surveying the Hammerite like a curious barn owl. He seemed a world away.

"Hey Derick?" she cooed, yet dared not touch him. The Hammer looked down at her, his face troubled.

"How can he do such things?" was all that came out, when the burly warrior attempted conversation. His tone was appalled, distant. Repulsed.

"Who Derick?" Gwenevere asked.

"The High Priest. How can he destroy a village, slaughter all those people..." breath caught in his throat in place of tears. The Hammerite cringed, and dropped to his knees there in the darkness of that eerily vacant street. "...and then go on believing he's a good man. A direct link to our Builder! How could he...believe such things...after..."

Gwenevere approached him, a slight hesitation prevalent in her maneuvers. But when she observed her dear, unexpected friend groaning and clenching his fists to fight back the anguish of what he had witnessed that terrible day, she was cautious no longer. The nymph bent over, and cupped her palms around his mighty shoulders. The Hammer looked up and stared at her, almost breathless.

"I know, perhaps better than anyone what it's like to follow a man who hides behind power. Someone who poses as a good leader, but in truth is little more than a lying goat."

The metaphor was not lost upon such clever and educated ears. Derick's stare on her, intensified.

"So, you do not...support your father-"

"-Never!" she snapped, her eyes flashing a hellish carmine for a split second. "Everyone always assumes that I was welcomed and wanted by him, but this was far from the case! I was a tool, an enforcer at best. And at worst..." Gwenevere shuddered, unable to continue as the sound of the Trickster's laugher haunted her waking mind.

But her words, had been enough.

Derick rose to his feet, and to her surprise, he actually hugged her. Gwenevere gasped when he did this, because it was so unexpected. But if life had taught the lost Woodsie Princess anything, it was that the world was full of surprises.

"It would then appear, that we have both been searching for something resembling truth," he decreed.

"Yes," Gwenevere nodded. "For the longest time."

The two friends faced each other, lost within a world of unspoken hope, and distant prayer. It was eventually the Hammerite who broke this stalemate, with a rather interesting question.

"Aren't you afraid?"

The nymph looked into his concerned eyes with weighty confusion.

"Of what?"

"Father Volkorn. All the things he's done to your people and friends. What he's threatened to do to you. Being alone in a world that refuses to make sense anymore."

It was apparent from the way he spoke, and the stresses behind the syllables, that these were Derick Garrision's _own_ fears. Gwenevere merely smiled.

"There are things that scare me, sure. The High Priest's threat does bother me-I've been terrified of large fires for as long as I can remember," she confided. The Hammer looked her over with genuine intrigue.

"Tis the fire itself that frightens you? Not the prospect of being burned alive?"

"Well, yes. That seems pretty bad too," the little nymph giggled nervously, before her cherubic face once again grew stoic and apprehensive. "But the thought of being surrounded by wicked, destructive flames...that's something else entirely."

The Hammerite pondered her words for several moments, before reaching into his pocket and procuring a tiny silver charm. It took Gwenevere a moment to realize, that it was in the shape of a hammer. Derick watched her expression-the way her green eyes grew livid and curious-before clearing his throat.

"Fire, needn't be feared, Gwenevere," he began, rotating the charm within his palm. It glinted and sparkled in the moonlight.

"Wow..." the nymph gawked. "Fire...fire _made_ this?! But how?"

"With integrity, skill, and discipline," Derick replied. "Come with me, m'lady. I wish to show you something that might change your fears-and perhaps your very outlook on things."

***

The first thing Gwenevere remembered about the foundry, was how hot it was inside. Blazing furnaces surged to life with vicious flames; their infernal teeth creating an eerie amber smile, as if mocking her fear. The sound of metal clanking and boiling erupted all around her, creating a steady, rhythmic beat. A loud, hiss of smoke rose up from behind her, as Gwenevere jumped with a shriek. Derick turned around, and placed a strong hand upon her shoulder.

"Tis alright, m'lady. Everything is all right."

All the wood nymph could do in response, was weakly nod. To say that Gwenevere was nervous, would be a gross understatement. She felt like a snowflake, drifting helplessly down towards a bonfire. Unable to change or divert her course. It was condensed fear, every fiber in her being begging her loudly to flee. Her grassy roots were in direct opposition to the Hammer's familiar world of smoke and heat. Such a place was not one for her. But Derick was persistent, and she trusted him.

There were perhaps ten tinkers and engineers working the bellows that evening. This was a public factory, open to those who possessed the ability to temper and tame metal. Such factories had sprouted up like weeds during the reign of the late Baron Northcrest; who had sought to remake The City into a more practical, self-sufficient metropolis. Many Hammerite novices came to this particular foundry to better their skills, since they were forbidden from stoking the blessed forges during their apprenticeship.

Derick led Gwenevere past several graphite crucibles, their innards bubbling red. She jumped again as a sweltering, shirtless man brought his hammer down with great force unto a red-hot blade. The nymph traversed this unnatural hell, her unlikely friend her only guide and guardian amidst the unbearable heat and sinister shadows of that place. Eventually, the twosome reached a much smaller station. Here, they were met with a clay crucible, a set of heavy-duty tongs, and a graphite stir rod. There was also a featureless iron mask, with only a small slit where the eyes should be. For whatever reason, it was this unknown object which caused Gwenevere to shudder worst of all. Derick turned to look at her, and produced something from the black leather satchel he always kept latched to the right side of his body. The little nymph grew curious, when she realized that it was a small cube of wood, and a pocket knife.

"What are you gonna do with that stuff?" she asked, her voice quivering with uncertainty.

The heat of this place felt awful in her lungs, and the sight of fire all around her prompted the genocide of her people to linger at the front of her mind, like a twisted shadow on a summer day. She was confused, anxious. Above all else, Gwenevere wanted to leave this place. But somehow, she kept her legs from scrambling out the door. The Hammerite answered her not with words, but rather by puncturing the surface of the wooden cube with his blade. Gwenevere watched him carve a deep gash into the object. At first, it appeared that the Hammerite was mindlessly whittling away at the cube. But eventually, a form began to take shape beneath his workings. A bird.  
"I wish to show you how fire can be a friend. Much like I am to you," Derick finally spoke, though his face remained absorbed within his work. Before Gwenevere could applaud his handiwork, the Hammerite donned his more sturdy pair of gloves, and turned a knob located beneath where the clay crucible sat secure.

"Augh!" Gwenevere couldn't help but scream as strange blue flames snared up with a hiss, consuming the bottom of the container. She backed away, shielding her face out of instinct.

"Be still, Gwenevere," Derick reassured, placing the mask up over his head. "Fire is our friend; our tool."

"I don't think so..." she trembled. He chuckled, and procured something else from his satchel. It turned out to be a few small silver pieces-old rings and the like. The Hammer placed them into the heating crucible.

"Now what are you doing?" Gwenevere asked, still mortified.

"Ah, you shall soon see, m'lady!" Derick responded, watching as the silver trinkets began to slowly ooze and loose their form.

"Hey! It's melting!" the nymph exclaimed, edging closer. Derick held out his hand, preventing her from reaching the dangerously hot mixture.

"Stay back!" he warned, his tone protective rather than cruel.

Gwenevere had no issue following these directions. She stood in silence, watching with interested eyes as Derick continued stirring the greyish, bubbling liquid; occasionally skimming the slag off of the top with his trusty rod. After a few minutes, he began pouring a small amount of the liquid directly into the bird carving he had made.

"What did you do that for?" Gwenevere looked most puzzled. Derick removed his protective gear, and smiled down at her.

"Now, we wait," he replied. And wait, they did.

After about five minutes, the Hammerite reached for the cube, and banged it against the table where he had been working. A tiny silver bird popped right out. Next, Derick picked up his pair of tongs, and plucked the little bird from the table. Gwenevere watched through wide, captivated eyes as her amazing friend then moved to a large vat of water, and slowly submerged the object. The water hissed and sputtered, creating steam in its wake. The Hammerite waited several moments, allowing the chaotic and simmering water to recant once more. When all was tranquil, he removed his finished creation.

"Behold!" he proclaimed, removing his safety gear. He held up the silver bird to Gwenevere, his eyes twinkling with pride and kindness.

"Wow!" she whispered, completely impressed by what he had so effortlessly created.

"It is a dove," the Hammer continued. "A symbol of the peace we shall one day forge between both of our faiths. And furthermore, it is a symbol of friendship, between you and I."

"Derick..." Gwenevere cried, her eyes welling up with emotion. "It's beautiful...thank you so very much!"

She took that precious little symbol up between her thumb and index finger, watching as the reflections of those flames she had until recently feared caused the silver to glisten and gleam. The Hammerite's heart brimmed with happiness at the sight of her glee. This time, he was prepared for the giant hug he received from her.

"No Gwenevere. Thank_ you_."


	82. Chapter 82

**BASSO'S HOVEL  
ONE WEEK AGO:  
**_  
Through motionless lips, and eyes which could never hope to understand what they saw, the robot watched as her stocky rescuer drank himself sick.  
He always drank, but that night his lust for alcohol seemed somehow greater. All the while, he kept his free hand clasped around a ruined rusty picture frame. Inside, was a sepia-tinted still, of a much younger model of this man-and he was accompanied by a young woman._

_The Heleanabot knew nothing of feminine beauty, so it was not her place to try and decipher whether the woman was attractive or not. What she did register upon, was just how happy the two of them looked together. Like two little gears, it was apparent that these two fit together somehow. Belonged together._

_"Ah Jenivere," the boxman croaked. "I'm sorry I failed ya, lass."_

_The robot had heard mention of this, Jenivere. So many times had her rescuer, her smuggler, invoked that strange-sounding title. As the Heleanabot's programming continued to splinter and crack on a daily basis, she had begun to take notes. Every mention of this Jenivere, had been secretly recorded by her devices. The Heleanabot, more loyal to this filthy pauper, than even her namesake had once been to the infamous Father Karras-now sought a similar purpose. She wanted to please her maker. Her savior._

_Basso soon succumbed to his drink, falling asleep at his desk. The picture remained lovingly clasped beneath his grubby fingers, but it would not remain that way. Unbeknownst to his now slumbering form, the robot slipped the object from his grasp, covered the boxman over with a moth-eaten blanket, and saw herself out the front door..._

***

**THE CITY  
PRESANT DAY:**

The usual dismal fog congealed and camouflaged the smoke of his pipe, as Garrett stood concealed between the darkness of two buildings, awaiting Gwenevere's arrival. The girl was running late, as usual. Wood nymphs had never had a very good sense of time, which the thief would sometimes dryly comment, was due to the complete lack of clocks within the forest.

"She's probably raiding the sweet shoppe again," he grumbled, producing a leaden puff from his pale lips.

Those same lips soon contorted into a sparse grin however, when he caught sight of someone running up the road. He wasn't sure it was Gwenevere, until she skidded to a stop, and bent down to pet a stray alley cat.  
The thief's smirk expanded as he released a thin cloud of smoke from his nostrils. Garrett stepped out from his crevice, and felt his pulse race for the first time in months. Not from anxiety Not from danger. But rather, from sheer exuberance. For the first time in so very long, Garrett felt alive.

"Mind telling me how you're going to run around in that dress?" he decided to start their evening off with his personal brand of comedy.

The nymph looked up at him, watching as the cat scampered off somewhere into the unseen shadows.

"Well, I just wanted to look my best for the opera tonight," she blushed. "For you."

"For _me_?"

The thief was surprised. No woman had actually dressed up specifically 'for him' before. It was a strange sensation-a mixture of both honor, and a strange emotion that he couldn't quite pinpoint. In any case, both of these feelings were all but foreign to him. He knew that Gwenevere's kidnapper had raised her as a noble, but in spite of that, it was always so surprising to see her dressed in any sort of finery.

Though he was unsure where she had gotten such a thing, the girl was clothed in a long white dress. The silk ensemble billowed down to her ankles, like some sort of exotic goldfish tail. Her long foxfire locks were done up into loose, spiral curls-brushed and conditioned to be just as smooth and soft as her dress. Her eyepatch was missing, leading the thief to the realization that Gwenevere had replaced her broken contact. But perhaps the most unexpected part of her elegant outfit, was the little silver tiara which sat atop her head, glistening as rays of moonlight danced across its surface.

"Well sure! You're very special to me, Garrett," Gwenevere curtsied, prompting the spell struck thief to clear his throat. When he didn't offer any sort of response, the nymph wilted slightly. "I hoped you would like it..."

"Well," the thief started, a positively devious look in his eyes. Putting out his pipe, Garrett approached the nymph and wrapped his arms around her waist, lifting her off her feet. "I like that little crown you've got," he whispered into her ear, hot breath tickling her.

"Hey Garrett!" Gwenevere released a giddy laugh. "C'mon, put me down!"

The thief chuckled, and turned her towards the building. He propped her up against the indent in the wall, causing the nymph to straddle him with her long legs. Her body then softened, the green emeralds locked within her stare comprehensively begging to be stolen away by the Master Thief.

But Garrett did not take her that night. In truth, he was far too apprehensive to do so. The woman he now looked into, had bloomed into a fascinating being. His once apprentice, had now accomplished more than he could have ever foreseen; surpassed every goal he had set for her.

Gwenevere had also achieved her_ personal_ goals, taken hold of her impossible dreams. But not due to any sort of need for survival, as _he_ once had. It was a pure desire to set an unfair world just a little bit right. Though he would never admit it, Garrettt admired her for that. Perhaps, he even envied her.

Just a little.

"Garrett?" she finally whispered.

"Yeah?"

"I've really missed you."

The thief continued to hold her against his body, watching her every movement. Listening, to the steady, rhythmic pulsing of her ligneous heart against his own of flesh and blood. Two opposed creatures, thrust into each other's worlds by darkness and greed. Untold possibilities, first set into motion by a daring little woodsie creature's stolen kiss.

Maybe the Pagan folk had no love for him-but their estranged leafy princess, did.

"I've missed you too."

***

Beneath the luminous golden light of thousands of chandeliers and bright candles, the evening's performance drew to a close. A cacophony of orchestrated magic wafted up from the colorful performers below, delighting the entirety of that enchanting place. From their vantage point atop the rafters, an unwanted thief and a vigilante-mislabeled as a pirate-watched on; their interests in the play diametrically opposed. Out of sheer boredom, Garrett glanced over at Gwenevere. She was currently folding the program for the performance they were watching, turning it into little more than a crumpled mess. He continued to stare at her with just the slightest hint of bemusement.

"What are you doing, Gwenevere?"

"Making a flower," she responded, as if the answer was obvious.

"Never seen a flower that looked like that before," he snorted, too cynical for his own good. The nymph stuck out her tongue.

"Oh poo to you! Since when are you an expert on flowers, Garrett?"

"I'm not," he affirmed. "But I know they don't look like that."

"Hey! It's just a hobby," she defended. "I just-"

"-You're bored," the thief reasoned, a keen twinkle in his eye. "That's why you're destroying the pamphlet."

Gwenevere looked guilty, her face blushing a deep red.

"Well I...that is..." she shook her head violently," No, I-" Garrett cut her off by plucking the 'flower' from her flustered hands. He then smiled down at her.

"It's alright. So am I," he chuckled. "And your art is better than most I've seen. Even if it doesn't look like a flower."

Gwenevere said nothing, her bouncy gestures and gleeful smile conveying all the thanks the thief required.

"Hey, I know this is a bit off-topic and all," she began.

"Go on," Garrett encouraged.

"Do you think there really used to be a phantom who lived up here?" the nymph inquired, kicking her legs back and forth.

"A phantom?" Garrett craned his head at her, whilst raising an eyebrow. "Why would there be a phantom here Gwenevere?"

"Oh I dunno," she shrugged. "I guess maybe it does sound a tad silly. But I remember how the locals used to gossip about seeing a strange man lurking around the theater right before closing."

"Really?"

"Yes. They say, you had to be alone to see him," Gwenevere leaned into Garrett, whispering. "The rumor got so big, that eventually, the opera began selling out the last show of the night six months in advance."

"That's ridiculous," the thief commented callously.

"Oh, I dunno," Gwenevere shrugged. "What if there really was a creepy guy around?"

"Tch, the only 'creepy' guy I ever saw around the opera house was an insane old taffer named Raoul," Garrett informed her, shaking his head.

"Raoul?"

"Yeah. He used to own the place, until it was stolen right out from under his nose by Lady Valerius," Garrett snorted.

"Garrett, can I ask you a personal question?"

"Sure, go ahead."

"Well, you seem to get all upset when other people steal things sometimes. Isn't that just a tad bit hypocritical?" the nymph raised an eyebrow. Garrett looked her dead in the eyes.

"That's because, not everyone steals for survival as I do, Gwenevere," he crossed his arms. "When I steal things, it doesn't tend to ruin people's lives."

"Is that how you justify yourself?" she pressed, that streak of maturity she had developed during her time away beginning to show just a little. Garrett gave her a scornful sneer.

"I don't need to _justify_ what I do, Gwenevere," Garrett allowed his eyes to wander off somewhere into the realms of the immense burgundy curtain that now obstructed his view of the opera patrons, and the angelic glow of chandelier light. "But there has to always be a limit-to anything. If I took away someone's livelihood the way she did, then that's as good as leaving them for dead. And as you already know, I detest unnecessary murder."

Gwenevere nodded, leaning her head against his arm. Garrett's eyes went wide at the unexpected gesture. He looked down at her, watching as she nestled her head against his legs.

"You know what?" she cooed.

"What?"

"You're a better man than you think, Garrett," the nymph yawned.

The thief looked confused for a moment, almost scornful towards her sentiment. But Gwenevere did not see this. She had already fallen asleep in his lap. Garrett breathed heavily through his nostrils, and began to gingerly untangle her tiara from the few strands of ruby red hair which had coiled themselves around the headdress. He covered the young woman over with the slack portion of his cloak, and allowed her to rest.

***

Gwenevere awoke to find herself sprawled out atop a cozy couch within one of the loges. Her tiara was resting on a side table beside her, along with a crudely scribbled note:

_**Gwenevere,**_

_**I went to snatch a few things before everyone goes home. Don't try to leave this box-I'll be coming back for you once the place closes down for the night.**_

_**Listen to me for once,**_

_**-Garrett**_

The little nymph stood, and went to inspect the door located across from where she had awoken. The door was locked from the outside. This didn't stop Gwenevere however, who went for the picks concealed discreetly within the underwire of her corset.

"Didn't expect that, now did ya?" she grinned with mischief, beginning to tend to the locked door.

***

Although two decades had passed since his last visit, the opera house remained a lucrative and unsuspecting mark. The nobility and bluecoats who sauntered about were just as easy to dispatch; perhaps even easier, given the years of practice and maturity that this nocturnal prowler now held beneath his belt. Garrett's grin was nearly consumed by shadow, as he ran his hands admirably over a rather gaudy necklace he'd just undone from a shrieking woman's neck. Said woman was now coiled up beside her husband, both unconscious upon the coral Bukhara rug.

He turned his head just enough to observe the exit through his peripheral vision, when the sound of clacking shoes came tittering down the lengthy corridor. Gas canister at the ready, the thief crouched there in the dismal shadows, and waited.

When she rounded the corner, Garrett couldn't help but roll his eyes.  
_  
Of course..._ he groused.

"Garrett!" Gwenevere chimed, still looking absolutely radiant in that long white gown. Within her gloved hands, twinkled two fine silver lock picks. The thief couldn't help but smirk. Only his Gwenevere could plunder her way through a packed auditorium dressed like that.

"I see you chose to disregard my note," he grunted, though it was impossible to keep the slightest hint of pride from his words.

"You didn't have to do that, ya know?" she condescended, her nude lips pouting a little. Garrett's eyes widened as he watched the nymph pull down the top portion of her dress, revealing the lacy corset beneath.

"Gwenevere!" he hissed, motioning upward. The little nymph only giggled even more, and hastily slipped her lock picks back into the underwire. Then, she redressed with a naughty little smirk.

"What?"

"You're something else, you know that?" was all the thief could manage in response, shaking his head.

Gwenevere ignored his words, waltzing inside the darkened box with flighty, playful steps. She spun around in an exaggerated maneuver towards the doorway, upon noticing that her thief had already completed his work within this place.

"Welp! Onto the next one!" she proclaimed, pointing out into the hallway.

The gesture reminded Garrett of a general, ordering his loyal men into combat. Again, he smirked. Coming up behind her, the thief gently pressed his hands around her determined little arm, encouraging Gwenevere to lower the extremity. She looked at him, curious of his intentions. Garrett continued to smirk, his eyes of mystery and glass shimmering like two rare treasures in their own right.

"You're cute," he murmured. "But remember Gwenevere; it's never that simple."

A wistful smile spread across the young girl's face. Those words, reminded her of a much simpler time within their lives. When their teacher and student relationship had been at it's peak. Before everything evolved into a complicated mass of questions and fears that neither of them had been prepared to face. Gwenevere began to wonder, if things could ever go back to the way they had been. Were thief and nymph possibly ready now? Had enough wisdom been gained on both their parts, to prevent a reoccurring tragedy between their distanced hearts? She hoped so-but also realized-love, was a mutual dance. So while the nymph was indeed truly ready to begin again, the question remained: Was he?

Gwenevere chose her next words with utmost care:

"Then please, Master Thief. Do lead on."

And the Master Thief, smiled. A genuine, appreciative, smile.

***

The next door was easy-completely unlocked. Garrett crept into the next box, feeling his pulse race at the sight of an older man's balding head. The low lighting illuminated it like a well-polished stone, creating the perfect target for his blackjack. But just as the thief was about to bring the tool down, the unexpected occurred.

"Garry?"

Garrett nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of the familiar voice. His would-be victim turned around, caught the thief paralyzed with mouth agape and blackjack in tow, and began to chuckle.

"You may be the best now kid, but it'll be a cold day in hell when you finally get in a sneak attack on me!"

"Monty?!" the thief gaped, hastily withdrawing his weapon. "What the taff are _you_ doing here?"

The Collector smiled, his chuckle resembling gravel mixed with coffee grounds.

"Can an old codger not appreciate the finer things in life?" he inquired.

"I suppose so, but-"

"-Hey! Who are you talking to, Garrett?" Again, Gwenevere came barging into view. The Collector's eyes grew wide with awe upon spotting the gorgeous woman who had just entered his theater box. He stood to greet her.

"Is THIS the lovely creature you spoke of before, Garry?"

"Monty, I've told you. Don't call me-"

"-My name's Gwenevere!" the nymph interrupted him with a curtsy in the old man's direction. "Pleased to meet you!"

"Ah, the pleasure's all mine, my dear," the Collector wheezed, bowing before her. "They call me, The Collector! But you may call me Monty," he explained, giving Gwenevere a toothy grin.

"Hi Monty!" Gwenevere giggled. Taking notice of her elegant ensemble, the elder's expression brightened with glee.

"Do you perhaps like the theatre young lass, hmmmmmm?"

Garrett scoffed, expecting himself to know the obvious answer to _that _question. But Gwenevere's response, utterly floored him.

"Oh yes! Yes I do! I've been to the theater once or twice before," she nodded. "I saw 'The Trials of Ferrets'. Perhaps you've heard of it? It's a well-known comedy after all! I loved the part where the talking egg found his life's calling aboard the S.S WavySpinich. Such empowering stuff that! They just don't make involved commentary like that anymore!"

The Collector's expression grew dreamy, and Garrett swore that he felt his jaw unhinge and fall to the floor.

"Oh...my...YES!" the eccentric old man beamed. "I personally love that amazing piece of thespian art! Why, it reigns supreme as one of the greatest comedy works of Mr. Frazunklensteinovkzsky-if I dare say so, my dear. The great reveal by the dancing spoons in scene twelve was a stroke of genius, I daresay!"

"Dancing spoons?" the thief raised an eyebrow. But neither nymph nor curmudgeon were listening.

"Yes, he was a genius by any sense of the word!" Gwenevere agreed. "The choreography with the spoons was a brilliant interpretation on the fragility of life, and the pursuit of a brighter tomorrow! And oh! That ending! I was seriously crying tears of awe for WEEKS!"

"Gwenevere..." Garrett tried, hoping to shake the girl from whatever mad world she and his old associate were now traversing without him. Upon hearing him however, the old man's head jolted up, his expression furious.

"GARRETT!" the old man barked, "it's _rude_ to interrupt a lady-especially when she is speaking of such weighty matters! Frazunklensteinovkzsky's masterpiece demands nothing short of utmost respect!"

The Collector waited for a look of shocked stupor to register upon the thief's face, before giving a satisfied nod. Confident that their discussion would not be interrupted further, he then turned back to Gwenevere.

"Now, if you would please continue, young lady!" The Collector wheezed, and sat back down upon the cushy velvet couch. He motioned for the young woman to join him, which Gwenevere happily did.

"I had just never seen anything so beautiful," the nymph reminisced. "You know, I used to have a dream about singing in the opera when I was young."

The thief perked up at this confession. Just when he assumed that he knew everything there was to know about her, Gwenevere was always delighted to prove him wrong. He began to find himself growing curious, as to just what a nymph singing might sound like...

While he pondered this, the old man added to the conversation.

"Ah, we must be kindred spirits, you and I," he mused, teary-eyed. "For in my youth, I too had dreams of being in the theater! I always envisioned myself a playwright, you see."

"Oh, yes! You certainly are very knowledgeable on the art of thespianism!" Gwenevere's eyes sparkled with kindness. "You should pursue becoming a playwright, if you really want to. That would be awesome!"

"You are very kind. But alas! It was not to be, my dear," he spoke sadly.

"Oh...I'm so sorry," Gwenevere offered.

"But my appreciation and love of this place did not die along with my dreams, oh no! I have seen such stagecraft, and how the arts have evolved over the years-always growing more enchanting with each passing season. But I digress...now, speaking of such magic, there was a particularly great play on words with the tale of the Griffin and the Ant..."

Garrett groaned, slapping his palm against his forehead. He leaned into the wall, allowing his fingers to gradually slide down his face.  
_  
Great...I can see that this is gonna take a while..._ he began to brood. _Thanks a lot, Monty..._

"No, I don't believe I have heard of that one," the nymph pressed a finger against her chin, scanning her memories. "You know, I was in a few plays myself once upon a time. Just stuff my best friend Ayeena and I would do to pass the time when we were kids. I was always the tree, "she winked, glancing up at Garrett. The thief looked positively bored out if his mind. "Oh! Silly me! Garrett and I came here for to spend some time together...Your friend is just so fascinating Garrett!" She giggled, prompting the thief to groan again.

"He's _not _my friend, Gwenevere..."

"Oh ho ho! Just listen to this taffer, would'ja?" The Collector beamed. "I swear to you, he hasn't changed a bit!"

"Really? How so?" Gwenevere cocked her head.

Garrett cringed, worried that the old man would launch into yet another one of his unending spiels. But surprising enough, he didn't.

"Oh, now if I were to begin any of those stories, we'd be here all night!" The Collector laughed. "But I wouldn't wish to keep you youngsters a moment longer. You two have fun now!" he waved them off, still smiling up at Garrett.

"Bye-bye mister Collector!" Gwenevere waved back, her grin expanding.

She skipped out the door, the thief falling in behind her. Garrett tensed when he suddenly felt two frigid, startlingly strong hands grip at both of his shoulders. He looked over his shoulder, and locked eyes with The Collector. The elder's expression was no longer one of bliss and recollection; but rather a solemn, almost dangerous glare.

"Monty?"

"She's a real sweet girl-and probably yer last chance. Don't screw this up Garrett," the old man grumbled out.

Garrett watched through empty, lost eyes as the jovial little creature danced and bounded in the hallway while she waited for him.

No, he wasn't about to.


	83. Chapter 83

There was something absolutely enchanting about the opera house after closing. Every candle and light fixture dimmed as one, universally creating the illusion of thousands of tiny stars. This nightscape, though artificial, was no less glorious to Gwenevere. In this gilded world of velvet and reverberating melodies, she felt a giddy sense of girlish zest. Here, wearing such a lavish and extraordinary dress, she could pretend to be that princess everyone always seemed to think she was. Not for their benefit, but rather, her own.

Here, beneath the fading glimmer of chandeliers and elegant red curtains, Gwenevere could allow her true colors to soar. She couldn't describe the feeling that compelled her to walk out onto that stage, only a lone thief in a taken chair occupying the vacant space below. But perhaps this drive to let go of reality, was brought on by the stage itself. When she stood there, the nymph felt as though she now had the ability to re-create the scenario around her. The urge to sing was overwhelming, as the sapling in her began to plead and whimper for their lost dream. So sing, she did.

In all honesty, Garrett had no idea what to expect. He'd never heard a nymph sing before. Viktoria certainly hadn't been the musical type, after all. But as the first notes began to leave Gwenevere's burgundy lips, the thief quickly began to understand why. It had been a gross misapprehension, on his part, to assume that wood nymphs were anything at all like their sea-wandering sisters. Humanoid defenders of the earth and her various elements, were not all interchangeable. And while Garrett had certainly never believed this, he had ignorantly assumed, that they could all sing at least. He was horribly mistaken.

The sound that now emanated from Gwenevere's mouth, could best be likened to a crow trying to imitate a songbird. It was scratchy, with uneven and varying off-pitches, and the words became as garbled as the notes at certain stretches. It took every ounce of discipline and perseverance he'd learned from his time with the Keepers, for Garrett to refrain from covering his ears-or revealing even the slightest of grimaces. Somehow, Builder willing, he managed to get through the entire song.

Afterwards, he even clapped.

Her face aglow with a fuchsia luster, Gwenevere curtsied, and gleefully hopped down from the stage.

"Hey! What did you think Garrett?" she asked, honestly curious.

"It was certainly not what I was expecting, Gwenevere," he muttered, trying to sound nonchalant.

"Garrett," Gwenevere smiled, "thank you. It was just something I dreamt of doing as a child, and I know I can't really sing good. But, all the same; thanks for letting me achieve my dream."

The thief acquired a truthfully surprised expression when she touched his armguard. The same arm, which only mere months ago, she had pierced with brokenhearted tenacity. Garrett felt his entire mouth go dry.

"Uh..." was all he could manage.

"None of us can. Wood nymphs don't use songs like to lure in their prey. That's a Sea Nymph's job," she continued with a twinkle in her eye.

"Is that so?" Garrett continued to allow his mouth to refresh itself. Something in the unexpected way she had reached out for him, had thrown the Master Thief into a realm of surreal suspension.

"I'm told, that we 'lure' our prey with...body language? Does that make any sense to you?" Gwenevere asked, proving that some of her precious and childlike innocence still remained unspoiled within her.

"Yeah. Yeah it does," Garrett managed a brief, rather uncomfortable nod, still staring off into the unknown. He would have refused to speak any more on the matter, had she pressed him. Thankfully, she did not.

"Okay, good!" Gwenevere was back to her usual bubbly self. "I mean, I don't know how to do that either, really. But I suppose I'll never really require those skills-seeing as I don't eat people like the others of my kind."

The thief averted his eyes, casting them instead down at his estranged little woodland protégé.

"I think you possess more skills than you realize, Gwenevere," he smiled.

"Really?" her eyes lit up, as luminous as the chandeliers overhead had once beamed but hours prior. "Gosh, thank you Garrett! It makes all the difference hearing that from you!"

"Just tellin' it like it is," Garrett chuckled, crossing his arms.

There was a moment of silence between the two, filled only by the subtle clicks and sputters of Garrett's prosthetic eye, as he continued to watch her adamantly.

That's when he got an idea.

"Hey Gwenevere?"

"Yes Garrett?" the little nymph leaned forward onto her toes.

"After we're done here, I'd like to take you up to the roof," he offered.

"Oh? Any particular reason why?" her query was genuinely curious, rather than rude.

"I've just never shown you the Thief's Highway before, that's all," his gaze over her, intensified. "When I first met you-I don't think I'd ever seen a more clumsy girl. I was always sort of worried that you might slip off or something, I guess," Garrett's replied, his words meshing together into a most muddy concoction of good intentions versus personal pride.

The nymph looked at him in a most peculiar manner for several seconds, before her lips grew taut and her cheeks expanded. It took the oblivious man several seconds more, to realize that she was holding back a laugh.

"What?" he demanded, thinking that Gwenevere was jeering at his sudden-and rather unexpected-show of tenderness. She finally let loose, and the entire auditorium echoed with her jovial chortles.

"Oh Garrett," she giggled. "I've been up on rooftops lots of times-high ones too!"

"Elaborate," the thief raised an eyebrow, hoping that this was a more recent development, due to her work as a vigilante around The City.

He should have assumed otherwise.

"Well, when we were living at the clocktower for instance. I would climb up on the roof there to shower every time it rained," she informed with a soft smile.

Garrett's eyes widened, his gaunt face contorting into a look of repulsed shock.

"What did you just say Gwenevere?!"

"Well sure!" her giggling resumed. "How else was I 'sposed to get clean?"

"Oh, I don't know...maybe just break into some noble's home and use their bathtub?! Use the excess runoff from the tower drains perhaps?!" Garrett answered back, completely appalled by the fact that the entire city had been getting a clear view of Gwenevere for the three months she'd stayed with him in that tower. Garrett ground his teeth, in order to prevent his jaw from coming unhinged by the sheer outrage of this discovery. But it did little good.

"Runoff water? You mean, where the rats go to die?! Yucky!"

"Better than letting the entire world see your-" the thief stammered, finding it impossible to finish that last bit. Instead, he just added, "Why didn't you just tell me? I could have sprung the lock on a taffing bath house for you, if need be."

"Well I didn't wanna bother anyone, least of all you," the nymph peeped, poking the thief in the cheek with her index finger. "You're turning red again Garrett. Are you angry with me?"

"Let's...just change the subject, alright?" he smoothly pushed her finger away, eyes closed.

"Okay, how about this then?"

Before his mind had time to react, Garrett found himself captured in the petite girl's embrace. His eyes flew open, only to close once again as he stiffly hugged her back.

"I would love to go up on the roof with you," Gwenevere whispered. "Take me for a race across this Thief's Highway."

"It'd be my pleasure, Gwenevere."

***

Thief and alabaster-clad vigilante were just about to ascend to the rooftop of the opera house, when the former noticed something curious out of his peripheral vision. It was enough of a shock to cause him to pause outright, for even though the opera was now officially closed, two hulking men remained.

Garrett only barely managed to catch Gwenevere by the back of her gown, before the vivacious nymph went skipping out into the guarded hallway.

"Hey! What gives?!" she nipped, more inquisitive than annoyed.

"There's a couple of guards 'round the bend. They might give us some trouble," Garrett whispered.

"Guards?" Gwenevere's face grew concerned. "I thought the opera was closed for the night. We didn't see any security bluecoats or anything the entire time!"

"I know. Strange that they'd only have these two," the thief agreed, his voice low and gravelly.

He prepared a scouting orb, and sent it gently rolling across the ruby carpeting. The tool revealed that neither of the guards were on roaming patrol. Rather, they stood vigil like two living statues outside of a conspicuous mahogany door. No doubt was left lingering in Garrett's seasoned mind. They were guarding something important. But what?  
_  
Maybe we should take a minor detour and find out?_ he began to smirk.

"Garrett?" the uncertainty within Gwenevere's voice was comparable to the pitter-patter of a nervous mouse. "What are you going to do?"

"Mind giving me five more minutes?" he asked, his attentions focused more on the mysterious protected doorway, than her.

"Sure, okay," she beamed.

Garrett didn't show any signs of acceptance; his only response was to move forward. Curling his fingers around the corner of the wall, the thief grabbed hold of one of his gas bombs. It was a flawless, silent hit. Once the green cloud of debilitating chemicals had settled, the two intruders stepped with delicate finesse over the unconscious armored men, and prepared themselves for a quick entry.

To Garrett's surprise, the door was unlocked.

_Second time tonight,_ he scoffed. _Wouldn't mind THIS happening more often._

Unfortunately for the smug moonlighter, that was where his fortune ended. Upon entering the mysterious room, it was not riches or information awaiting Garrett-but rather two distinguished individuals. One was draped in fine carmine vestments, his hair silver and stringy. The other, was a face the Master Thief actually recognized from a gala he'd 'attended' via Lord Bafford two years prior. Lady Lilithia G. Simmons.

Her venomous hazel eyes fell directly onto the invasion of light, as it poured into her reserved sanctum. Garrett felt his heart pound, as cold sweat began to break out over his arched forehead. He was in plain sight of these individuals, and the noblewoman, was staring right at him. Into him, like a predator. But it was the lady's reaction, which caused a very real sensation of terror to engulf Garrett's person. She didn't speak. She didn't scream. Lady Lilithia, merely smiled. A wide, disturbing sort of grin, which conveyed with it more threat than any blade or poison.

Garrett wasted no time feeling for another gas bomb. His eyes contracted in horror, when he discovered that he'd used his last one on the two guards. As he began to search his mind for any further options, the other person must have noticed where his companion was looking. Because he whirled around, and glared menacingly into the thief.

"Hark! An interloper of shadow!" Father Volkorn snarled. The title caught the thief off-guard in an almost-comical sort of absurdity.

Interloper of shadow. That was a new one!

Had Garrett not been rendered completely dumbstruck by this uncomfortable-and frankly absurd situation-he may have seen the High Priest's staff coming towards him. Father Volkorn was quick for an old man; a lesson which was acutely demonstrated, as he rammed the bejeweled tip of his staff into the thief's mechanical eye.

"Agh!" Garrett reacted immediately, more due to the memory of his eye-gouging than from any actual pain.

Had this been his good eye, the simple yet sharp blow would have been blinding. But instead of the expected squelch of intraocular fluid, the High Priest was met with the sound of metal denting, and glass shattering. Teal shards fell to the thief's feet in place of blood, and Garrett backed further out of the room, clutching at the right side of his face.

That was when he noticed the damage. The world had begun to slant again, as if Constantine's madhouse were forever following him. Many a time had Garrett considered that this was intended by that insidious old satyr god. He panicked, but only for a moment. But this momentary lapse into the trauma of his past, proved to be all the time she needed.

A blur of red and white sprinted behind the thief's staggering form, its posture threatening to charge into the demented manfool who had dared to try and harm him. Though he was indeed uninjured, the loyalty of a wood nymph to that who they perceive as master, is one of the most powerful, and beautiful forces on this earth. And as she met the bewildered, hateful gazes of Father Volkorn and Lady Lilithia, Gwenevere felt a savagery which hadn't consumed her since the reveal of the Hammerites true oppression unto her people. Her eyes, began to glow a deep, hungry red.

"It is she! The Last Mother!" Volkorn was almost breathless. His quarry had come to him, it would seem.

"Gwenevere?" Lady Lilithia demanded, her mouth growing slightly agape.

The nymph paid her no further heed; Gwenevere's full attention now locked onto the man before her. He was a Hammerite-she'd recognize that odious shade of red anywhere. False benevolence, soaked in the blood of her people.

Father Volkorn, refused to be intimidated. Better he die trying to slay her, than cower in the shadow of the Trickster's seed. With a solemn expression, he retrieved a small bottle from his belt.

"Holy Fire! Cleanse us of thy Trickster's spawn!" he shouted, then hurled it directly at the nymph.

Had it not been for Garrett's teachings, and the agility she had since gained, Gwenevere would have never been able to slip out of the way in time. She let out a loud gasp, as the bottle shattered, and burst violently into flame. Within moments, the entire carpet was ablaze. Remembering what Derick Garrision had taught her, Gwenevere forced herself to the side of her lilting thief, fighting back the icy dread as it threatened to consume her.

Lady Lilithia was screaming, and she continued to do so, even as the High Priest ushered her around the flames, and out the back door. He turned around and glared once at the two trespassers, his irises intense with malice. Gwenevere managed to help Garrett reach the ladder to the rooftops, barely exiting the opera house before the entire vicinity burst into flame.

***

From atop the incline on a well-lit street, Father Volkorn watched through a stoic, vacant stare, as The Builder's fire lit up the night. His companion, was understandably mortified by his actions.

"What have you done?!" Lady Lilithia demanded, tugging at his spiritual vestments.

"Sacrifices are necessary, if I am to purge the Trickster's seed from the earth," the High Priest remarked apathetically.

"By sacrifices, you mean to burn down one of our fair city's most historical and beloved landmarks?!"

Volkorn acquired a demented smile upon his wrinkled lips; his maddened eyes flashing in the darkness, almost mirroring the vicious flames. He glowered down at Lady Lilithia, and began to speak in a hushed, sinister voice.

"My lady. Are thou indeed quite certain that it is the opera you wish to save?"

"What are you talking about?" she raised an eyebrow. "What else, could there possibly_ be_?!"

"What I am worried about, my dear, are the depths of your true loyalty unto The Builder."

"You know that I am a devout practitioner of the faith, father," the noblewoman snapped. "I tithe, I attend mass every Sunday. I have never faltered in any of His tenants."

"That remains inconclusive, as of tonight," he retorted.

"Again, I'll repeat myself," Lady Lilithia snorted, absolutely flabbergasted by this point. "What_ are_ you implying?!"

The High Priest's gaze on her, intensified.

"What was your affinity, with the Last Mother, while it lived unchained within the murky corners of your manse?"

"You know I've always hated the girl!" Lady Lilithia spat. "She stole my inheritance, my pride, and so much more. At any rate, this is nether the time NOR place for such discussions, father!"

"Oh, but it is..." the High Priest shot her another wicked grin, this one unnaturally wide and menacing. Lady Lilithia, simultaneously felt herself gulp.

"W-what?"

"Art thou a Pagan, Lady Lilithia?"

"Excuse me?" she raised an eyebrow.

With that latest show of disrespect to the cloth, Father Volkorn, went into a tirade. Shaking the woman's demure grasp from his sleeve, he began to accuse her of everything he could muster.

"Your attorney, Woksworth,displayed the same lack of appreciation for the fire's cleanse, my dear. Whilst his wooden mask slowly dissolved under righteous punishment, he feel before my fireplace, and wept like any sinner would. Now, tonight, you morn the loss of a fanciful structure, whose very bowls are home to wicked writings of glorified woodlands, tales of Pagan and Hammerite love, and tactless gypsies who would rather play pretend, than contribute anything meaningful to our society. The lad must have learned such rotten morals from somewhere. He is young, and impressionable. And so, I ask you again, Lady Lilithia-art thou a Pagan?!"

"Of course not!" She squawked.

Volkorn watched as she crumpled before him like a broken little doll. Lady Lilithia didn't bother to get up, her eyes transfixed upon the reflections of burning structures within the High Priest's piercing glare. She was now thoroughly convinced that he was utterly insane.

But as humbling as it was, the fact remained unchallenged: He, held power-and she, did not. It would be no trouble, given Simmon's abduction of the Last Mother, for Father Volkorn to convince his followers that she was indeed, a Pagan. They had already convicted her attorney of such crimes, as the religious old coot had just mentioned. And in the event that she was indeed convicted as well...the possibilities caused a visible shudder to traverse her frail body. He could torture her-to death, if he wished. She had very few resources left, following her husband's death. All of that, had gone to Gwenevere. The harsh truth was, without the backing of the church, Lady Lilithia was no longer a woman of any merit within the eyes of The City-and she knew it.

"Then a _sympathizer_!" Volkorn decreed, threatening to unleash the powers of his staff upon her. He smiled as the noblewoman flinched.

"No, _no_! I never felt anything kind or gentle for those filthy forest-dwelling savages! They should all be burned, yes! I agree father! Please, you simply _must_ believe me!"

Father Volkorn, slowly fastened his staff back onto his belt.

"There is, one way..." he began, stroking his chin as yet another chilling smile spread itself wide across his face. "Aside from torture, and flame. There is still one last way, which you alone can prove your undying affinity unto the Order of the Hammer, my dear lady."

"Yes! Anything!" she agreed.

"Good," he nodded, as several frantic screams augmented the night. The first onlookers to the massive fire, no doubt. Or perhaps one of her semi-conscious guards...

"What is it you desire of me?"

Father Volkorn, then proceeded to explain his plan to her. But what she heard, caused Lord Simmons' widow to grow incredibly uncomfortable.

"But father? Does not murder go against the teachings of The Builder?"

"Be still, dear lady. As High Priest, I hereby absolve you of your future sins. Tis' all for a very good cause, after all! We shall snuff out the Demolisher of Order, and she shall burn within The Builder's holy flame!"


	84. Chapter 84

Gwenevere had never seen this side of Garrett before. For as long as she'd known him, it was as if a spell had been cast. A magical barrier, which concealed all of the forbidden secrets which the Master Thief kept sequestered from the world. But with the destruction of his false eye, the enchantment too, seemed to shatter like broken glass. The nymph listened to the rattle of his breath, her feral senses detecting far more panic in his mannerisms than before. Focus had shifted to flight, cold sweat evident upon her lover's brow. Yet Gwenevere did not let on that she was observing any of this-she knew very well that Garrett would simply deny anything she brought up.

So, she did all she could for the man. She ushered him forward across the Thief's Highway, and she kept her mouth shut. Garrett would occasionally attempt to assert his dominance over the situation, by pulling her arm forward; essentially stripping that leadership privilege from her. It would only last for few minutes however, before the thief once again began to sway and curse due to his revived lack of depth perception. Against her better judgement, the little nymph couldn't help but grin when he would begin to pull forward again. He was like a hound, bound to a leash which he refused to ever submit to.

"I'm only trying to help, you know," she finally commented, as he once again tried to be their guide through a shadowy world of chimney smoke and shingles, which he was not currently able to fully navigate alone.

"I know this city better than you, Gwenevere," he growled, as he started to lean again.

"That may be so," she nodded. "But right now-"

"-What?!" he whirled around, glowering into her with one remaining, angry brown eye. "What, you don't think I can survive without both my eyes Gwenevere?! I made it out of your father's madhouse half-blind, I saved the taffing _world_, half-blind. Do you honestly think that I need your help?!"

His words did not surprise her, beyond the initial jump in her heart which came when Garrett spun around, and began shouting. Gwenevere had heard much, much worse out of him before. This was a touchy subject, and she knew it. The nymph said nothing in response, allowing him to vent. The thief hadn't yet removed the damaged prosthetic, and every once in a while, the concaved wreckage would spark to life with mechanical groans, and fizzles of blue electricity. One of these wild currents gave Garrett's nose a slight, yet uncomfortable zap. He recoiled, clawing the broken optic from his skull. Gwenevere found herself staring into the now-vacant cavity, overwhelmed by compassion.

She leaned forward onto her tiptoes, and ran a smooth finger down the base of the hideous scar her mother had made upon the thief's weathered face. Garrett pulled back in furious surprise.

"What are you-"

"-I know you don't need anyone's help Garrett," Gwenevere cooed, cutting him off. "That's part of what draws me to you so. You're a survivor. A master of your own design and plan. I think in the end, even the most stubborn souls must realize that you're something special."

Garrett barely felt as his bottom half connected with the icy masonry of an unlit chimney. They were just above the Hammerite Cathedral by this point, the alabaster statues of the ancient saints seemingly glowering up at the heretic sinner, and the Trickster's daughter. Neither thief nor nymph had any place there-but in their midnight wanderings, they had ended up there all the same.

The next thing Garrett felt-_this_ sensation, met with the fiery sensation of conjoined longing and disbelief-was a pair of petal-like lips, connecting with the emptiness of where his right eye had once belonged. Where that long-lost flesh had once glowered out scornfully upon a world of love and happiness that Garrett knew was never meant for one such as he. That was of course, until the spawn of a chaotic saytr god had found her way into his mangled remains of a life.

Gwenevere stared intently into his lucid expression, her heart beginning to feel that familiar flutter once more. The moon was full, casting spotlights of heaven's glory down into her wispy red hair. It illuminated her pale form, as a whisper of a gentle evening breeze began to stir up the night, trailing amidst the stars. Causing several of them to lose their celestial bearings and plummet to the world below.

"Gwenevere," he began, "thanks. I know you mean well."

"Of course," she nodded, her large eyes glistening with warmth and kindness.

"Although I thought you once told me that fire scared you," the thief unexpectedly pressed. "How were you able to remain so collected back there?"

"Well, I had to be brave," she crooned, taking a clean cloth and a crudely stitched leather canteen from the small white purse strapped around her waist. "My thief was in trouble."

Garrett said nothing, watching through his tired remaining eye as she poured an unknown liquid all over the cloth, thoroughly soaking it.

"What's that?" he asked.

"Oh, you got a pretty nasty shiner back there," the nymph pointed, watching as the thief reacted by lightly touching the bruised flesh around his empty socket. "This is a little something Nellarose cooked up to help take the swelling away."

Garrett flinched as she dabbed the cloth against his skin, not used to such ginger contact. It had been so long, since she'd last touched any part of him.

"I'm proud of you then Gwenevere, for facing your fears. That takes guts," he muttered.

"Aww, thank you," she blushed, screwing the cap back onto the canteen. "But, I can't take all the credit, ya know?"

"Oh?"

"My friend; Derick Garrision. He taught me that fire isn't all bad."

Garrett raised his eyebrow at that. Derick. Derick. For some reason he couldn't quite place, the name sounded very familiar. The thief barely had any time to comprehend such matters, as the giddy little creature before him continued to explain.

"He taught me that fire is to be respected, and not feared for the sake of it's danger. So long as we are prepared and diligent, fire cannot harm the worthy soul."

"Tch," Garrett snorted, "sounds like something a Hammer might say."

"Oh, he _is_ a Hammer!" Gwenevere replied.

The thief frowned. So _that_ was why the name sounded so taffing familiar! Garrett could never forget the musclebound brute who'd practically pushed him away from Gwenevere that night. It made him feel confused and frankly, very uncomfortable, that Gwenevere was still hanging around that guy.

"Why are you doing business with a Hammerite, Gwenevere?" Garrett demanded.

"Why not?" she shrugged, "Derick's my friend, and he's very strong and helpful."

"Trust me Gwenevere. That man's no friend of yours. He's your nemesis-surely you at least understand _this_!"

The nymph bristled at that, watching as her perfect evening shattered into fragments of nothingness and repulsion. No matter how badly she wished it, Garrett would never understand her drive. Not thoroughly. He was a creature of habit, and history. The thief invoked the name of 'Hammerite' with only one emotion-contempt.  
For the most part, he would-possibly could-never believe that a member of their order could be the open-minded, good person whom Derick actually was. But then again, Derick Garrision, was estranged from his brethren at the moment.

_Maybe, if I explain it that way to him,_ the little nymph pondered. _Just maybe..._

"Derick's not the same as the others," she protested, stomping a petite foot against the rooftop. "Sometimes, people can surprise you-if you'd only give them a chance, Garrett!"

"Heh, that's precisely the point," he snorted. "I'm the one who does the surprising. A good thief is rarely seen, and never caught."

"Well then, maybe you're not as good of a thief as you think," she challenged, against her better judgement. Garrett shot up from his seat, leering down at her with more fury than insult.

"What did you just say?!" he hissed. The night was beginning to turn rancid for him too, by this stage in the conversation. Gwenevere was noticeably shaken, but she did not back down.

"Y-you've been both seen and caught before, haven't you?" it was a rhetorical question, but even if it had of been a genuine query, the thief wouldn't have responded.

"So maybe there's a deeper reason to that. Maybe, some part of you knows already...you're as much a part of this city as I am. You can't hide from her all the time."  
Her empathetic eyes began to reflect the deep sneer, as it proceeded to contort across Garrett's lips at her words. It pulled the scars and frown lines just beneath his sharp nose taut.

"I don't get it Gwenevere!" the thief released a frustrated sigh. "Why do you care so much about what happens to the people of this city?!"

"Why don't you care?!" she countered, eyes fizzling with tiny green sparks. "All you've ever done is take Garrett. Did you honestly expect anyone to accept such rigid and selfish behavior?!"

"I did once," the thief poisoned, looking her dead in the eyes.

The nymph felt as a frigid chill traversed her heart. Her skin burned and ached with insult, and that familiar lump in her slender neck, returned. One eyebrow raised, the other lowered, her celadon irises contracted, as her eyes fought to starve off tears.

"You stole my heart Garrett!" she hissed, those same eyes flashing a brutal red. "Now you wonder why I'm acting so heartless?! How dare you!"

"Well then I still have it, don't I?" he sneered, his callous words biting and harsh. "That means I can fix you yet. This city has confused you-distorted you. But, it isn't too late."

Before Gwenevere had any time to begin to decipher what the thief had meant, Garrett reached into an unseen knapsack beneath his cloak, and retrieved a small glass canister. Inside, was a thick cotton cloth; an unknown liquid steadily seeping up and into its fibers from the bottom of the bottle. His face remained stoic, as he pulled the cloth from the canister, squeezing off a handful of the excess mystery liquid.

"What are you doing?" the nymph questioned, never allowing her gaze to leave the bottle and cloth in his hand.

"Listen Gwenevere. We can do this my way, or we can do this the way you seem to be suggesting."

Gwenevere gave him a perplexed, worried look. Seconds later, a rather pungent smell found her nostrils. It was not unpleasant, but all the same, rather strong. A seed plinked into the unanswered concern somewhere within her wondering mind, as Gwenevere began to gradually remember the smell from her time in the Grower's medical ward the other day. It was ether.

Her body grew very stiff, when she inevitably realized just what it was that this desperate moonlighter was planning on doing.

"And what does that mean?" Gwenevere snapped, motioning to the bottle of ether in his gloved hand, "are you gonna use that ether cloth on me?!"

Garrett would normally be impressed with her knowledge of such tools. But by this point, the thief was more than well-aware of the fact that his once-apprentice had learned more than was necessary within this corrupted city. His mind, was now far too focused upon stealing her back, to care about any of that.

"If need be, yes. You're mine Gwenevere, and you know that."

The little nymph shook her head in abject disgust. After the magical evening they'd just shared, after all they'd experienced and survived together...the Master Thief, still viewed her as a mere _possession_?! A possession which he greatly cherished and loved...but still...an object, all the same.

"I can't believe you're taking it this far..." she whimpered.

Garrett said nothing as he stepped towards her. Whether it was his lilting, or the clever strategy of a skilled hunter, she couldn't be sure. But the thief began to encircle her, forcing her to step closer and closer against the chimney in the process. Gwenevere gasped, as she eventually felt the frigid stone against her back. She was trapped.

"Oh, I can take it much, much further Gwenevere," Garrett muttered, his voice gravelly and detached from any emotion. "For the last two months, I've watched you gallivant around with Mcclay, that Hammerite, and taff knows who else! Enough is enough Gwenevere! You're not Robber Hood, alright? I'm sick and tired of drinking myself stupid, while you act out such foolish fantasies with that hammer-wielding maniac!"

"Who, Derick?" Gwenevere cocked her head in surprise.

"Yes, or did you think I didn't know about that Hammerite you've been _sleeping _with Gwenevere?!" Garrett accused. "Did you think I was too _blind_ to notice?!" There was a sincere bitterness locked behind his every syllable.

"Wha?!" Gwenevere jolted upright, her brow twitching in time to the thief's remaining eye.

"Do you honestly think he cares even a _bit _about you?! You're the Trickster's _daughter_ for taff's sake!"

"B-but Garrett! I'm not sleeping with Derick! He's just my friend!" she shrieked.

"Bullshit!"

"I-it's true!" Gwenevere struggled to defend herself, as the thief drew ever closer with the cloth that would render her unconscious within mere seconds. She held up the silver dove charm laced around her throat. "See? H-he gave me this little bird!"

"Yeah, of course he would," the thief's brows furrowed with an indescribable, and completely foreign animosity, "what have YOU been giving him in return?!"

Gwenevere, was nothing short of mortified by his accusation.

"Why would you even _assume_ that Garrett?!" she whispered, beginning to shake her head. "Because he has the same man-parts as you?! Do you really think that's all it takes?!"

"It doesn't matter anymore Gwenevere," Garrett deflected, trying to hide his own discomfort.

"Well that's funny-because like, two seconds ago you were acting like it did!"

"Gwenevere, just shut it, okay? I'm tired of arguing with you. I'm taking you back, and don't even try to test me on that."

At the end of his patience, the thief advanced upon her. Roughly placing his nymph into a headlock, he ignored her struggling and whines, and brought the cloth to her face. Gwenevere could practically taste the debilitating chemicals.

At the last possible moment, the wood nymph's eyes flashed, and the unexpected left her lips.

"Do that, and I will never be yours again," she growled a very real warning.

As if enigmatic electricity had just rocketed up his unsuspecting spine, Garrett violently jerked back at her words. Gwenevere fell away from his grip, still dizzy from the ether, but conscious. She chanced a look at her old mentor, watching as the bitterness of reality-and what he had almost done in his desperation-became glaringly visible upon his tired face.

He allowed the bottle and cloth to simultaneously drop from his hand. The bottle careened down the rickety scaffolding, before shattering upon the cobblestone road far below. And like an adamant companion, the dampened cloth followed.

"I do still love you, if that's all you need to know," the nymph cooed softly. Garrett remained stiff, his pose awkward against the ivory moon.

"Then why?" he began, voice hoarse and still very bitter. "Why won't you come home Gwenevere?"

"Because I don't think you really understand any of this Garrett. I think you're too detached from your own emotions to know what any of this really means." Gwenevere was crying now, the full moon transforming her falling tears into dozens of glistening diamonds. "I love you, and yes, I wish I _could_ still be with you..."

"Gwenevere..."

"But I remember once telling you, that as long as I could remain at your side-however short-it would be enough for me. I always knew you were a loner, and that one day it would be decided that I leave to grant you solace," she sadly closed her eyes, casting a veil of darkness over their enchanted splendor. A small pink blush found her downcast cheeks. "I always thought that_ you_ would be the one to decide that day; but it seems I was wrong."

The thief ground his teeth, staring into her with an intensity that would rival that of a devoted Mechanist Watcher. His lack of a working steel prosthetic was no issue-he wasn't about to take his focus off of her.

"Gwenevere, listen to me! It was different then. I didn't think I wanted anyone, because I was afraid that if I got close to someone, everything I knew would come undone," he felt his heart drop into the pit of his stomach, "like it did...with Clairissa. And your mother."

Gwenevere could practically feel how difficult this was for the man, and she could taste his unshed pain and tears. They were there, and they were very real-regardless as to whether or not Garrett realized this. He continued.

"I didn't want anyone that could be used against me-for anyone to be put in peril because of the life I lead," the thief reached out for her hand in blind desperation. "I now understand, how wrong I was-about all of it! Nymphs can take care of themselves; such danger does not exist. Perhaps that is one of the reasons why I am drawn to them so. I never meant to hurt you-and I'm sorry that I dismissed you. You can still be my apprentice Gwenevere-just don't-"

"-Garrett. What you are trying to say...it's very sweet. But this is something that I must do."

"Why Gwenevere?! Whatever happened to, 'what we have not needing to interfere with our work'?!" His hawk eye was brimming with bitterness and agitation.

"It isn't about _work_. I have an _obligation_ to the people of The City. To the Growers, and the Pagans. They all need me!"

Upon hearing her whimsical, carefree proclamation, Garrett finally lost it.

"Why is this filthy city so damned important to you?!" He shouted. "What are you searching for Gwenevere? Why are you looking for such answers, when I can tell you _exactly_ who you are!"

"No. No you can't. I already know what you'll say," she spoke with a calmness completely juxtaposed to the Master Thief, and his writhing fury. "I am sorry Garrett, but there is so much more to me than my life as Gwenevere."

"Don't you think I know that?!" he spoke with a disbelieving quake in his breath. "If you really want to know what happened to you-what your life was like-I have no problem with that. What I don't understand, is why you're doing this on your own."

"Again, I am sorry Garrett. I thought you of all people would understand."

"Because I'm a loner? Really?!"

He grabbed her wrists, causing her to gasp. She looked up, as the thief's long shadow was cast over her shivering person; and her eyes flew open with dazzling brilliance. Chimney smoke wafted and played amidst their forms, as he leaned into the shuddering fairy creature whom he held onto as diligently as any treasure.

"I've been alone, and yes. I do enjoy the solace it grants me. But that doesn't mean that I would leave those who care about me behind..._had_ such people existed in my life," his stare grew dark, the slightest hint of resentment burning its way into her soul. "Think about that Gwenevere. You're more lucky than you realize-and more loved than you could ever know."

"G-Garrett..." Gwenevere's voice was but a trembling peep.

"Gwenevere, I've been thinking about what Keeper Mcclay told me. What he meant, when they told me that you were never mine to keep. He wasn't the first to tell me this, and to be honest, I've never fully managed to convince myself of the contrary. Yet, in spite of that, I still tried like the stubborn taffer that I am. Maybe that's why everything's unraveling between us now. Maybe I tried too hard to force your decision."

The vigilante stared up at him, as though time and peril had lost all meaning. As if she and her beloved thief were truly alone within that world of smoke and stars. Their bodies became blackened silhouettes against the ghostly white moon, and for a split second, the nymph felt her heart completely stop. The thief did not believe in luck; so at that moment, he pressed against all reason and logic instead, to chance another step towards her.

"Gwenevere. Do you remember, the night you stole that kiss from me? The night it all began?"

Gwenevere couldn't respond even if she had tried. Her throat fluttered, the supple ivory skin of a nymph desperate to play human, catching the faintest glimmer of a distant shooting star.

Not even his breath sounded, as Garrett struggled to free the last words from his reserved lips. He knew what sort of a risk he was taking; and yet, it was his only chance of gaining Gwenevere's affections again. Silently, his nostrils flared, and after tongue had licked at the roof of his mouth, the Master Thief uttered the sentiment which would render the seal forever broken.

"For the longest time, I have been thinking of what those words meant. Now, at last I think I know. Some things, can never be stolen...Some things, are too priceless to steal. You're absolutely right Gwenevere-you _aren't_ my possession. But all the same, you are far too special for me to lose..."

He extended his hand to her, stretching his long fingers out until Gwenevere could see them beginning to turn white. She looked up at him, his stoic expression causing her to become even more confused. By the time she finally managed to wrap her mind around what all this meant, her body had already begun to react. The tears subsided, and her irises shimmered within a milky bath of pure emotion.

Her thief, had granted her personal freedom.

No longer did he view her as a possession. In that single, unassuming gesture, Garrett had accepted that she was not his. Her heart leapt, as the now free girl contemplated over her next decision. The choice which she alone was entitled to make.

She felt herself gasp, a frail hand coming into contact with her cheek. The powerful nymph vigilante who had accomplished so very much-who had grown deliberately in both body and soul. At that moment, Gwenevere no longer held that aura of unbridled power-for she now felt as frightened and uncertain as a young child.  
Her body never wavered against that starlit backdrop, as the One-Eyed Pirate Queen faced down the greatest thief the world had ever known. Her old master, the manfool she knew would never leave her heart.

She knew he would never stumble, but still Gwenevere rejected the urge to simply throw her shivering body into his arms. Instead, and with a grace and maturity which for a moment bore a perfect resemblance to her late mother, the last forest nymph on earth, smiled. Her green eyes grew wild, and the thief found himself completely transfixed. Her lips parted, and as a sparse breeze caught the curled strands of her ruby red hair, Gwenevere began to speak.

"Of my own volition, and of my own heart...I will return to you, Garrett."

Her white dress billowed against the moon, creating an illusion of the ensemble being nearly transparent. It was only evident, that the girl was indeed wearing the gown, when a dark leather armguard found itself wrapping around her frail waist.

Words lost all meaning, becoming as unnecessary as a whimsical daydream in wake of their souls now existing in tandem. Her taste-something mortal men were never meant to experience, for fear that they would never be able to abstain from its inebriating flavor-filled every corner of Garrett's mouth. He would have cried, for the sheer joy of holding her like that after so very long-had his mind not been lost within a place that held no tears.


	85. Chapter 85

"You should come stay with me and my friends until your eye is fixed," Gwenevere offered, nuzzling her nose against the fine dark hair of Garrett's chest.

She now knew the true meaning denial. For only now, after she'd returned to her designated, rightful place within the thief's embrace, did the nymph truly realize how inseparable they actually were. Two halves of the same organic creation, each rendered lifeless without the other.

Garrett released another cloud of white smoke from his lips, the haze encircling the passionate renegades like a halo.

"Me? Room with Mcclay?" The thief scoffed. "Yeah, that's not gonna happen."

"Oh Garrett," Gwenevere raised her head to face him, and pouted.

Garrett scanned the entirety of her heart-shaped face, from her lustrous green eyes, right down to those purposefully pursed and trembling lips of hers. He put down his pipe, and smirked. Before Gwenevere could ramp up her begging with a series of soft puppy whimpers, the thief surprised her by tapping her squarely on the nose.

"Hey. You know I can't," he offered, in a deep, sincere voice. "Besides, I have an associate in Old Quarter who can have that old thing fixed in no time. He owes me a favor, after all."

"I know someone too!" Gwenevere tried again. "He lives with us down at the hideout and everything, so you wouldn't have to walk as far in your condition."

The thief stared at her, but it wasn't the look of insult Gwenevere was worried about seeing. His expression was instead, rather perplexed.

"Who?"

"Woksworth! That guy we saved from the Hammerite Quarries that one time!"

"You mean the attorney?" Garrett was suddenly growing apprehensive again. "I was wondering where the rat scurried off to after we saved his hide."

"Yup," Gwenevere nodded, ignoring the bitterness in her human's words. "He can fix your eye, and since he's my friend, I'm sure he'd be happy to do it for free!"

"He, can fix my eye?! How?"

Garrett was bemused by the very notion. His prosthetic eye was a highly sophisticated piece of some of the very finest Mechanist technology. Sometimes, Garrett grew genuinely curious as to just how Gwenevere's mind worked and processed information. She was not methodical, unlike him. That much had been evident, ever since the first night he'd met her.

Timothy Woksworth, couldn't even fix his own situation with the Hammerites when the time came. How in the taff did his girl expect him to repair such a complex device?

"Well, he's been doing a lot of tinkering and learning ever since he converted to a Mechanist," Gwenevere replied.

"Woksworth's a what now?!" The thief's eyes went wide.

"I guess so," the nymph re-adjusted her position atop his chest. "He says he's _spiritually_ Mechanist, but not religious-whatever that means."

"I don't think either of us are in a position to understand, Gwenevere. Let's keep it that way." With that, the thief kissed her. "Now let's get out of this attic, alright?"

"Right behind ya!" Gwenevere giggled.

***

**MCCLAY'S HIDEOUT  
LATER THAT NIGHT:**

The last thing Timothy Woksworth was expecting to see-snuggled in his bed, a warm glass of milk fermenting in his stomach-was a pair of oversized, red eyes watching him through the darkness. The attorney gave a shriek that would rival a Haunt, flailing and fumbling to re-light the candle. Before he could throw himself out of bed in a fit of terror, an excited voice took full precedence.

"Woksworth, hey! I didn't mean to scare ya," Gwenevere offered. She heard her friend release a loud sigh of relief, and smiled.

"Oh, my lady," he panted. "It's only you."

"Well..." the nymph was barely able to complete the simple, four-letter word, when another bloodcurdling shriek escaped Woksworth's mouth.

Gwenevere looked back and forth, growing a little apprehensive now herself. Just what had startled her friend so badly anyway? That's when she noticed Garrett. The thief's gloomy silhouette was framed by a darker visage of shadow from the unlit alcove just beyond. With the lack of any luminance, the nymph had to admit-the hooded figure did appear quite ominous.

"Garrett, just how many heart-attacks _have_ you given people over the years?" she asked, with a hint of merriment in her voice.

The thief said nothing, but a spry, invisible grin did cross his lips at the comment-albeit momentarily.

"M-m'lady...do you, _know_ that person?!" Woksworth stammered, pulling the bedsheets up over his mouth and nose.

"Oh sure! That's Garrett. The guy you think is my husband, remember?" Gwenevere laughed in spite of herself. The attorney breathed again.

"Well then," he began, "may I ask what is the meaning of this untimely interruption? You know I like you as much as anyone else, Gwenevere. But you can't just go sneaking into people's rooms late at night without a very good reason!"

"Sorry..." the nymph lowered her head. She looked back to where the thief remained, seemingly frozen in the doorway. "It's just that, Garrett needs your help with his eye. It's an emergency!"

Woksworth shot her a deeply confused look.

"I'm an attorney, my dear. Not a doctor. If your," the young man licked his lips, searching for the right word to his client's most unorthodox relation to this man, "whatever he is, needs his eye looked at, there is absolutely nothing I can do to assist."

"But, don't you tinker? Now that you're a Mechanist? Isn't that part of your whole, worship or whatever?" the little creature pleaded.

"Yes, I indeed am quite gifted with machinery. With Lady Lilithia no longer finding my services useful, you are my only client and friend. A man has to pay the bills somehow, you know," he released a pitiful laugh. "But are you really suggesting that your...friend, has a _mechanical _eye?!"

"Yeah, I do," Garrett snapped from the doorway, finally reaching the end of his lingering patience. "Can you help, or not?"

The attorney, was taken aback by this response. A mixture of embarrassment and fascination coated his weary features.

"Oh! Oh, dear...I apologize, I didn't realize..." he ran his long fingers up through his messy blonde hair. It was a gut-wrenching feeling-realizing that he'd unwittingly just mocked a blind man.

Well, half-blind.

"Apology accepted, now can you fix the blasted thing or not?" The thief retorted, paying the attorney's apology no heed.

Timothy Woksworth, got out of bed, lit his candle, and brought the light fixture to just below his smiling face. The orange light played in tandem with the gentle shadows, making his usually suave features appear quite disturbing.

"To the workshop," he whispered, further adding to the unsettling vibe.

***

The 'workshop', turned out to be little more than an unused bedroom. Unbeknownst to either Garrett or Gwenevere, this was the room which Erin had been staying in during her stent with Mcclay. The nymph handed her busy friend a steaming mug of strong coffee she'd prepared in the kitchen, and Woksworth immediately took a long sip. After laying out his tools atop the desk, he faced Garrett and held out an expectant palm. The thief hesitantly turned over his broken prosthetic.

"You'd better do a good job," he growled.

"Garrett!" Gwenevere pursed her lips in the thief's direction. "Woksworth, I'm so sorry."

"Oh, no worries m'lady," the mechanist tinker chirruped. "Your good fellow has every right to be wary. This is, after all, a piece of his very form. Entrusting it to any hand other than his own, must take great courage."

"You're not exactly mounting my faith in you with statements like that," Garrett murmured.

Gwenevere narrowed her eyes at that, before turning again to face Woksworth.

"Umm, Woksworth?"

"Hmm?" The young man responded, beginning to examine the crushed piece of machinery.

"Garrett is going to be secretly staying in the hideout with me for a while," she admitted.

Woksworth looked up from his work and smiled at the less-than-ecstatic moonlighter.

"Ahh! Well, allow me to be the first to welcome you to our humble hole in the ground, good sir!" He extended his hand in friendship.

Garrett just stared down at the gesture, with eyes reminiscent of a savage who'd never seen a handshake in their life. Gwenevere stepped between the two men, eager to break this awkward stalemate.

"Uhh, we were both kinda hoping that you could keep it a secret."

Woksworth gradually lowered his offered hand, and reached for his coffee instead.

"Certainly," he replied after taking a sip. "Any reason why this matter is so hush-hush though?"

The nymph looked up at her thief, as if seeking a sign of assurance. When he nodded, she proceeded to elaborate.

"He and Keyper Mcclay aren't really on the best of terms," she giggled nervously.

"Oh, I see. Pity. Mcclay seems like such a kind old man," Woksworth commented, turning his full attention to the broken eye. "My, you certainly bashed this thing up good, didn't you?"

"I was attacked, ergo, not exactly MY fault," Garrett defended, crossing his arms to his chest.

"Uh-huh," the mechanist nodded, barely listening to the thief's rebuttal. "When was the last time you had this thing upgraded?"

"Five years ago. The green filter was cracked, so I've been wearing the blue one," Garrett responded, a tad miffed by the attorney's casual reply.

"Five years?!" Woksworth gaped. "B-but the blue filter is so old news! That was like, version 2.0 Mechanical eye! Technology is at least at 5.7 by now!"

"So? What's your point? It works just fine," the thief defended.

"Uh, no," the young man chuckled, "No, that's where you're wrong. You're a man living in the past Garrett. Just wait-once you see what these modern upgrades can do, and how they'll vastly improve your sight capabilities, I'm sure-"

"-I said no. Just fit this one with a green filter again. I like the color better."

"Okay..." Woksworth groaned, and began tinkering. "You're quite certain that you don't want either the newest photography or cinematography upgrades?"

Garrett crooked his eyebrow. It did seem intriguing. Photography was still a new science, and cinematography was thought to be a mere hoax, until around six months ago; when an aspiring young artist joined forces with a savant Hammerite, and created the first set of moving pictures. But if either of these upgrades were indeed possible, the thief had to admit, they could lead to some interesting developments-namely blackmail, which was always quite lucrative.

"How much would that cost me anyway?"

"Oh, nonono!" Woksworth waved his arms out in front of his face rather comically. "You don't understand, good sir. You're a friend of Gwenevere's, ergo I would be happy to make your prosthetic here the very best-for free!"

"Why are you doing this? Why are you being so nice to me?" Garrett interrogated.

Suffice to say, he wasn't used to getting favors for nothing. Whenever a person attempted to be generous, the thief naturally assumed they wanted something in return. This was, unfortunately, his way. But these suspicions had not been birthed from paranoia or cynicism-at least, not entirely. After all, for the grand majority of his life, Garrett had been used, threatened, and manipulated by every lowlife, faction, and distanced associate he could remember.

"Well, as I said, a mutual friend," Woksworth responded, not at all miffed by Garrett's behavior. "Besides, you _did _assist in my rescue. I owe the both of you my life."

"A lot of people owe me their life. They've never so much as waved at me," the thief scoffed bitterly.

"Well, then a pox on them sir!" Woksworth exclaimed, over-dramatically. "A pox on them! How could anyone ignore such valiant deeds? You sir, are my idol!"

Though Garrett remained ambivalent towards the entire situation, Woksworth's unlikely words of respect caused something reminiscent of a smile to dance ever fleetingly across his tired face.

_Finally. A likable Mechanist._


	86. Chapter 86

**GWENEVERE'S ROOM  
LATER THAT NIGHT:**

A waft of contentment rushed over the thief as he tightened his arms around the little nymph, absorbing the scent of apples and honey suckle that wafted up from her fiery mane. It had been the best three days of his entire life, simply being back in her presence once more. He had nearly forgotten how Gwenevere's gentle breathing gradually coaxed him further into serenity, or how she muttered about simple things in her sleep. Every so often, the girl would kick or nestle herself deeper into the comforting pillows. Sometimes, she would contour her body against his, and make the sweetest trill before resuming her slumber. They were small things, but things he had missed so much none the less.

"Good to have you back," the thief whispered, his voice raspy and exhausted. Garrett barely noticed as his eyelids slid shut...

***

_Panic replaced all contentment, as the thief began to dream. A place of metal, far too hot for the sane. The smoke in his lungs made it hurt to breathe, and there was such noise in the air! This was not a silent haunt, a manse of slumbering nobles, and precious treasure. This, was the artificial palace of an obsessed madman. His final attempt to reach out and appease an enigmatic god who, if he did indeed exist, couldn't have cared less about any such offerings. Or perhaps, it was more than that. Perhaps Karras was indeed trying to become a god himself that night. The metal man's folly was as disinteresting to the thief now, as it had been nearly two decades ago. Garrett came to this place for one reason, and one reason alone._

_And there she was..._

_Garrett could never begin to describe his attraction to Viktoria. She was a glorious creature of terror, but she did not fit that pretty and delicate image most commonly associated with such things. Viktoria, was beautiful death. That, was probably the best way to describe her. She was like a poison the thief was well-aware might indeed kill him one day, but his addiction to her was just too powerful. Whenever he pulled away, something within her always managed to drag him back. Such had been the case on that terrible night._

_He continued to watch her; how horrifying it was when she unleashed her true tenacity like this. Yet still, a power he could both admire and respect from a distance. Garrett felt as panic at the inevitable began to course through his body. Though the realist in him screamed that it was useless, the thief couldn't stop himself from darting forward in a dead run towards the furious dryad. If he could get to her just a few seconds earlier, to stop her from doing the unthinkable. Just a few moments was all he needed. He glanced up, against his better judgement, and saw his other self just about to shimmy down a rope arrow towards the scene of the violent battle._

_**Fool,**__ he chastised his younger, much more brazen self, __**you should have never left her to her own devices.**___

_The wood nymph released a scream so bloodcurdling and foul, that the thief felt a lump rise in his throat. He skidded to a stop, narrowly dodging a combat bot as it was sent crashing into the iron floor. With an expert agility which could sometimes even rival hers, Garrett continued to advance upon the nymph, leaping and sliding about the floor when necessary to avoid chunks of machinery and branches as they were spewed in every direction._

_Just as he managed to reach Viktoria, and gain her attention, a veil of white light enshrouded the sterile metal battlefield. Garrett hissed, shielding his eyes from the focused luminosity. When he dared to open them again, his heart nearly plummeted into his icy stomach. Viktoria was gone, as were all of Father Karras's beloved inventions. Even his dream world doppelganger appeared to have vanished. The room was devoid of anything-be it living or inorganic. Save for one, frightening object. Situated directly in front of the frozen thief, was a dead tree in the shape of a woman clutching a screaming infant_

_A flash of hot terror consumed Garrett's insides as he looked upon the eerie foliage. Something moved him forward however. One step, then another. Each step brought the thief closer to that horrible tree-closer to madness. After what seemed like a lifetime, Garrett was finally close enough to reach out and touch the bark. It felt surprisingly smooth beneath his fingertips; a bit like flesh. It was only upon this astute observation, that the thief noticed the pair of jade green eyes, watching him from within the small hollow indent of the trunk._

_He leapt backwards, recoiling from the strange sight. He froze to the spot, and it was as if the room grew somehow darker. Something stirred beneath the knotted wood, clawing at the porous surface. A feeling of utter paralysis now took hold of Garrett, his feet firmly bolted to the floor as if he too were one of Karras's little toys. The two eyes slowly pushed forward, as the tree creaked and cracked. Before long, a face revealed itself from beneath the bark, and began seeping out from the innermost visceral point of the dead foliage. Breath caught within the thief's throat._

_It was her._

_She was even more beautiful than he remembered. Her skin was smooth, dappled green with a subtle undertone of sepia. That long raven hair he loved so much streamed down from her skull, draping down over her shoulders to conceal her impressive, supple breasts. Those jade eyes sparkled something sinister in the darkness, as her velvet lips began to part ever so gently._

_"Garrett. It's been a long time, since you dreamt about me," Viktoria chided in her sultry tone._

_The thief stilled himself for the worst. The last time he'd dreamt about her, she'd cursed him._

_"You gonna do something nasty again?" Garrett asked, his voice a low grumble. The nymph queen smiled. But it wasn't a smile of mockery, nor malice. It was radiating with tranquility._

_"My good thief, about our last encounter..." Viktoria began, taking a step towards him. She reached forward and took up the thief's limp hands. Garrett, did not object. "I was mistaken. I was wrong. My concern over my daughter was mislead, it would seem."_

_"Viktoria?"_

_"You do love her, and you have done nothing but try and do what's best for her. Regardless as to whether or not she sees it. She gave up on becoming a deity for you, Garrett. She even took the curse for you, and lost her own eye in the process. At first of course, this made me very angry," Viktoria hesitated for a moment, silent as a fading star. Her grip around Garrett's fingers, intensified, but only for a moment. "But now, I think I am beginning to understand."_

_"What are you talking about?"_

_"The Trickster. He wanted a second. But, I wanted a daughter. I have always wanted more for my child than that. I wanted to see her happy-because unlike he, I loved her."_

_Garrett was speechless. What he was hearing, forced his mind to challenge everything he thought he knew about the wood nymph standing before him. Viktoria, loved Gwenevere. Like a daughter._

_All this time, the thief had assumed that both wood nymph and Trickster were jointly using her for their own particular purposes. Even after everything she'd told him, Garrett had always assumed that Gwenevere's affections towards her mother were anything but mutual. But he had gravely underestimated just how much the Woodsie Queen cared and relished her offspring. A part of him, was somewhat relieved to hear this. Viktoria continued._

_"She has that happiness now-with you. Garrett, you will always be my good thief. So I ask this of you now: Take care of my sapling. And," she hesitated, her vibrant eyes temporarily loosing all of their luster. "tell her...that I love her..."_

_"I'll tell her that Viktoria," Garrett whispered, his throat tightening with emotion. The woman of the woods, smiled graciously at him._

_"Thank you, my good thief. It soothes my soul to hear it. She must know I care for her. The nightmares she sometimes has of me are...quite monstrous." She closed her eyes, her presence around him beginning to fade as the thief's mind prepared to wake. "Thank you...for everything you've done Garrett..."_

_At the last minute, Garrett retaliated, fighting to remain locked within this vision with her. He lunged forward, as Viktoria's form began to dissipate into a gentle midnight haze._

_"Viktoria!" The wood nymph stared up at him through the growing mist._

_"Garrett?" She craned her neck to the side, the gesture oddly innocent for one such as she. The thief felt the tightness in his throat intensify, as his eyes began to water. Steadying his nerve, he locked eyes with Viktoria._

_"I...I never got a chance to tell you...I l-" a soft vine furled itself around his quivering lips. Garrett swallowed the sentiment, watching as the wood nymph's face softened. She shook her head, that kind smile never leaving her face._

_"Shhh. Those words are for her ears now, my good thief. Please speak them to her often." At that moment, she grabbed his hand._

Garrett's eyes, flew open.

***

A chill raced down Garrett's spine upon his reawakening. His lack of depth perception did little to remedy the hot fear, which still wormed its way into his heart. It was all just so unnatural-so unnerving. The wood nymph's touch remained on his hand; a cool and earthy sensation. Much like the curse mark from last year, the thief knew this had been no ordinary dream. Viktoria's spirit, had made contact with him once more. Garrett hoped, that this would be the last time.

It was still dark, and the thief's acute senses picked up on nary a sign of conscious life as he rose from the bed. Gwenevere and Pilfur lay undisturbed by his violent stirring, their faces locked in expressions of tranquility. Garrett still found himself curious as to just what she dreamt about. Sometimes Gwenevere awoke crying. Other times, she would spring to life with a childish smile plastered wide across her fair face. Whatever the contents, he was certain that her dreamscape must have been quite vivid, to elicit such colorful reactions from her.  
Maybe he would summon the courage to ask about it one day. For now, the thief turned his full attention to his rumbling gut.

Garrett hadn't eaten for some time, and he knew this hideout had a rather large kitchen. He had seen Gwenevere prepare coffee there earlier, for Woksworth. Pilfur awoke, his green eyes vibrant against the backlight of sconce and shadows. He trilled upon noticing Garrett. Putting on his boots and little else, the thief sauntered over and petted the stirring cat. He began to purr, his grey whiskers splayed in elation.

"You're a good cat," he muttered, face solemn. With a meager smile that poorly hid the torment beneath, Garrett scratched Pilfur's chin a bit more, before exiting the bedroom.

***

Fumbling though cabinets with rusty knobs yielded a few goodies, at least. Keeper Mcclay, kept his larder stocked nicely, but most of the cabinets contained flour, sugar, and other raw ingredients, rather than the quick snack the thief was rummaging for. Garrett polished a ripe red apple between the folds of his cloak, before taking a hearty bite.

It was lighter than dove feathers, the sound which insufflated across the kitchen moments later. Cautious and concentrated, like a whimpering fox, but with the steadfast integrity of a being who knew they could never misstep. Never be heard. For the first time, they were wrong in believing this.

The thief closed his mouth around the supple bite of apple, and chewed and swallowed with nary a glance. Then, when the unassuming intruder dared to breathe again, Garrett whirled around to face them, a fire arrow illuminating their features. It came as little surprise to the thief, to find Keeper Mcclay lurking there in the murky doorway, both hands nestled deeply into his sleeves. The Keeper smiled at the pensive, rather hateful scowl upon Garrett's face.

"And good evening to you, young Garrett," the elder nodded.

"Don't, 'young Garrett' me, Mcclay," the thief snapped, lowering his weapon. "Why are you sneaking up on me in the middle of the night anyway?"

"Forgive me, dear boy, for my mind isn't what it used to be," the Keeper began, in a tone which began to devolve from a jovial, self-deprecating voice, to a downright fearsome one. "But the last time I checked, I was under the assumption that _you_, were the intruder here."

Garrett snorted, spitting a wad of saliva to the dirt floor.

"Is that your excuse for stalking me in the dark then?"

"Garrett, I have known of your presence here for three days. I only choose to approach you now, because Gwenevere is not around," Mcclay admitted.

"What's that got to do with anything?" the thief retorted, trying to conceal his surprise at the fact that Keeper Mcclay had been aware of his presence here for several days.

_What IS his angle?_ Garrett wondered.

"I wished to speak with you alone, boy. Keeper to Kee-"

"-Don't you DARE say it," the thief warned with a deep snarl. Keeper Mcclay straightened his posture, then nodded his head again.

"As you wish."

He motioned for Garrett to take a seat at the long dining room table, a gesture which his criminal guest outright refused. Keeper Mcclay, took a seat instead, watching as Garrett cautiously secured the fire arrow back within his quiver.

"So tell me Garrett...do you still believe that I am a threat to Gwenevere?" Mcclay asked, interlacing his bony fingers just beneath his angular chin.

"I _think_ Gwenevere is a threat to herself," the thief murmured, putting down his half-eaten apple. "But I trust her, regardless. She's learned a thing or two since leaving my side, and from what I've seen, that girl can handle herself now."

"Then why are you here?" The Keeper leaned in forward. Garrett sneered.

"Is it really so strange that I'd decide to help her out?"

"What do you think?"

"I think, that I'm respecting her little cause by offering up my own specific talents," the thief snapped. Then, he released a bitter chuckle, shaking his head as if Garrett just realized how insane the entire situation actually was. Keeper Mcclay's eyes began to sparkle with intrigue.

"Ahh, I think I am beginning to understand your motivation."

"Analyze it however you want, Mcclay. I'm here. Even though I still think this whole thing is taffing cracked," Garrett groused. Keeper Mcclay, stood from the table.

"I have. My findings are most sound."

"Yeah? What's the verdict?" the thief jeered.

"It would seem, that you have come to terms with your part in all of this. You have admitted weakness, and grown from your pain," the robed elder began to make his way across the room at an excruciatingly slow pace.

"Where the taff are you going?!" Garrett demanded, tossing his apple core into the waste basket.

Keeper Mcclay, gave the thief little more than a mere glance over his shoulder. With dry mouth, and wracking guilt, he eventually managed five simple words.

"Now, it is time for the rest of us..."


	87. Chapter 87

The night was quiet, but the serenity did little to quell the anxiety and guilt within Derick Garrision's heart. Nor did it prevent it's terrible spreading. But when Keeper Mcclay inevitably came strolling down the dappled rustic corridor, something urged him forward. Something he couldn't explain, encouraged his confession forward.  
The Hammerite had reached an epiphany, his lengthy and strenuous religious meditation finally at its conclusion. The Builder had indeed sent him a sign, in the form of Gwenevere. But Derick had never been certain just how to proceed after his gratifying and unnatural friendship with the unlikely harbinger.

Ultimately, he had decided to start with an apology.

But his god refused to aid him this time. No, in regards to this next spiritual step, the Hammerite needed to seek council with a mortal man. And while Keeper Mcclay was indeed a human being, he still retained some rather esoteric gifts. It was the best Derick could hope for at the pique of this vital crisis.

"Keeper, if I may have a word with you," Derick Garrison intercepted the elderly sage as he made his way grimly through the earthy maze of abandoned quarry.

Keeper Mcclay gave a lighthearted chuckle. It was apparent that the older man was exhausted, and in no mood for a conversation.

"The hour is quite late. I believe this matter can wait until morning, yes?"

The Hammer side-stepped in front of the weathered sentinel, his face one of internal defeat and desperation. Putrid remorse. This surprised Mcclay, causing his tried eyes to focus widely on the hulking figure in front of him. The warrior's hopelessness glinted like an icy gale behind two stony eyes.

"Actually, no," Derick grunted, his voice growing harsher. "It cannot."

Keeper Mcclay's lips grew taut over clenched teeth, as his ancient eyes were flooded with a deep unrest.

"Has the time come at last, Hammerite? For you to level with me? To tell me of your past with the High Priest who now hunts the forest folk like prey?"

The way those words left his lips, troubled Derick. As did the resounding ambiguity reflecting deep within Mcclay's eyes.

"You knew?" was all he could muster, as Derick Garrison's mouth had gone completely dry. "If you knew this entire time, then why did you allow me to stay, Keeper?"

"Because I believe in second chances boy."

"But you _knew _that I had worked for Volkorn!"

The reborn zealot cringed at the inevitable memory-the nightmares of what he had done during his stent as the High Priest's trusted second. How easily it could have been his job to break Ayeena's legs that night. Or just how lucky Gwenevere actually was, to have Mcclay watching over her.

"Indeed I did," the Keeper repeated, tucking his hands away into airy sleeves.

Derick bristled at this.

"You _knew_ that it was I who sent the threats to Gwenevere, back when she lived in rural Nethalzia! After some of our crusading brethren had discovered a strong surge of Pagan magic resonating from within the area," the Hammerite continued to shout, each syllable slicing through his heart like shrapnel. "I found her, and at the behest of Father Volkorn, I hired the assassin who nearly killed her!"

It was apparent that Derick's confession had broken him, yet Keeper Mcclay refused to comfort the man. Instead, he continued to do what those within his order did best. He waited, and he watched through disjointed features as the tears found the corners of his unlikely guest's eyes. Then, like diligent erosion unto sturdy stone, they flowed down over his once proud face, shaping Derick's features into a look of tragic surrender.

"For the third time boy, yes. I know all about that which you speak," Mcclay assured, his face sullen.

"Then how?!" The Hammerite grew breathless with disbelieving rage. "How could you possibly trust me?! Whether you believe in second chances or not, that decision was most reckless! Why would you allow me to stay, when I had thus proven myself to be such a threat?!"

The Keeper sauntered up to his burly companion, and extended his hand. A brisk but imposing blue luster shimmered outward from his wrinkled-deceivingly feeble-hand.

"Derick. I told you upon your arrival that if I sensed any malice or threat from you, I would end your life. Was I supposed to allow preconceived notions to cloud my judgement? Was I supposed to end you then and there due to the possibility of a betrayal, which I could have easily quelled with a single wave of my hand?" the ancient sentinel smiled. "Had I done that, then you would never have redeemed yourself within the eyes of your god."

Derick locked eyes with the elder, taking notice of the collected expression upon Mcclay's face. There was no hint of uncertainty, no lack of trust. It was as if the ancient master truly were immortal-invincible. Or had something other than power and fearlessness guided his confident words in that moment?

"Doust thou truly believe that?" Derick inquired, shaken and meek. Keeper Mcclay chuckled under his breath. It sounded like gravel being crushed beneath heavy iron boots.

"What I believe matters very little in the end. It is what I have seen in you, which weaves my thoughts into words now," the Keeper corrected. "So I will not waste precious time asking you why this happened. But I do expect you to tell Gwenevere."

Mcclay eyed his young Hammerite companion with the expectant stare of any father. Derick Garrision began to perspire, despite the coolness of the earthy walls surrounding him.

"I intend to, Keeper." Mcclay gradually nodded, his bear-like eyes locked into those which had seen far too much for a man less than thirty years old.

So much, yet so very little in the grand scheme of things. Derick Garrison had never lain with a woman, never had the pleasure of raising a child, or going on holiday. Yet, the man had tortured, bared witness to mindless slaughter, and suffered alongside a woman who blamed _him _solely for what the evils of his order had done to her.

"Mind if I inquire as to when you were planning on administering to these truths?" The Keeper pressed him, his weathered eyes augmented by misery.

"Soon. Very soon. I haven't the gumption at present." Derick swallowed hard upon admitting this. The Keeper's eyes glistened, though his lips conveyed no words that would reveal his unanticipated accord.

"You are afraid of how she'll react?"

"Yes..." Derick admitted with a weighty sigh. "She...is perhaps the most magnificent soul that I have ever encountered. Yet, I once attempted to terrify and slay her, all because of pious rancor! How...how can I look into the eyes of the girl who I now liken to a sister...how can I possibly reveal to her the truth of what I have done?!"

The Keeper licked his lips, his next words hoarse and concentrated.

"It is an understandable dilemma, young Derick. Unfortunately, you'd best find your mettle soon. The longer a gear remains submerged in murky water, the surer that it shall rust, and never be the same again." Keeper Mcclay urged in a sympathetic, yet firm tone. Unfortunately, Derick did not receive the prompt as such.

The Keeper's hypocrisy angered him. For he knew, that this enigmatic old man held a murky secret all his own. And Derick was almost certain, that Gwenevere had no idea of how appalling it actually was. But he did. Father Volkorn did. Lady Lilithia had told the order everything. Where to search for this mysterious appointed chaperone; one Cedric Mcclay. But what Derick failed to consider-the precious link he overlooked which would have nauseated him-was that Lord Simmons and the High Priest, had once been old friends.

They had been as close as brothers, two holy men embarking on similar righteous odysseys, each only to be lead astray by opposing paths-the sin of greed, and the intoxication of madness. And therein came the turnabout. Before a certain old man had unwittingly released forbidden knowledge into Simmons' careless hands. It had poisoned his mind, and led him to commit an unspeakable crime. Slaughtering the remnants of what his blasphemer brethren had overlooked the previous year. But this time, he had taken something living from that forest as well. And it had lived locked away within his mansion, for over a decade.

"And what of you, Mcclay?! I know all about the will you signed with Lord Simmons! Your own role in Gwenevere's past is far from innocent. When are _you _planning on telling her the truth?!"

Derick glowered into the reticent thinker, just as determined to cleanse all lies and misgivings from their inner circle. Trust was necessary, if they intended to continue working as a unit. Trust, had always been the foundation of all Derick knew. Thus it pained him doubly so, to have been so deceitful with his dear friend, Gwenevere. Quite frankly, the Keeper's duplicity within his words and ways, reminded the Hammerite of his own shortcomings.

That, was why they enraged him.

Mcclay, for his part, was more bemused than offended. He refused to engage the holy warrior in this futile argument. Instead, he looked the Hammerite over with a rather judgmental stare.

_He comes to me for advice, only to accuse? There is a certain amount of contempt there, I see..._

Keepers were never vivacious nor garish in their mannerisms, but they were almost always dedicated and impartial. Mcclay realized that the truth was seldom easy. He had been preparing his mind and body for months in anticipation of that cathartic moment when he would decisively confront Gwenevere. To tell her the truth about everything.

That moment, was drawing near.

"I will say only this. Before dawn's first light, Gwenevere shall know the truth about me," Keeper Mcclay promised. He lowered his head, drawing a long, icy breath into his rattling lungs. "Regardless as to whatever consequences that truth might entail."

The Hammerite was silent for several moments, feeling as a foreboding gale of trepidation tore through his armored vestments as if they were made of paper. This wasn't the only delicate secret he'd kept hidden. Mcclay's ancient eyes glistened as his refined senses became aware of this scandalous information. Unbeknownst to the wondering warrior, his anxious mannerisms were betraying him.

"Will there be anything else, young man?" the elder's tone was expectant. Derick locked eyes with him, his hands trembling a little.

"Indeed there is, Keeper...Father Volkorn is aware of your involvement with Simmon's will. With Gwenevere herself. If the girl is not discovered soon, I have no doubt that the High Priest may instead chose to seek _you_ out-if he hasn't done so already," the rogue Hammer warned.

The Keeper grinned. _Ahh, so that's how he knows..._

"He won't find a trace of me," Mcclay retorted in a confidant, extremely bitter voice. "Volkorn is too lost within his tangled madness to seek out the obvious."

Derick Garrision gave a downcast nod, relinquishing the situation unto a man who knew far more-and far better-than he. But Keeper Mcclay sensed that the Hammerite was still gravely concerned. These assumptions, were proven correct; for not two minutes later did the distressed warrior address him once more.

"Keeper?"

"Yes, young Derick?" Mcclay faced him with a twinkle of gentleness within his eye.

But this show of demure concern, was unfortunately of very little comfort to the apprehensive Hammerite. Like a pulsing fissure, ruptured up from an infernal enigma far beneath the earth, secrets and lies had begun to fester and taint what had since become a fluid friendship. Derick had known that Keeper Mcclay harbored grievous sins. Damnable information which he kept buried beneath gnarled fingers, and impenetrable eyes.

The Keeper, for his part, had known the Hammerite to be a repentant foe. An adversary not completely trustworthy, but a powerful addition to any party. Hence why Keeper Mcclay had chosen to allow him access to his lair. It had started out as a façade of kindness. He needed to keep this potential threat close.

But in the end, it was to be the wayward guardian of unwritten knowledge, who would prove to be the greatest contributor to such tragedy. Because this Hammerite, for all of his past violence, ignorance, and transgressions-was still young enough to see the error of his ways-to change them. Keeper Mcclay, was a fossilized remnant of a bygone era. A relic infested with forbidden magic, and grizzled anguish. There would be no change, nor forgiveness in store for him. For Cedric Mcclay, or as the wily thief had always known-Keeper Vandolyn-it was centuries too late.

"Why have you chosen to involve yourself in all of this? Why did you risk so much to save Gwenevere after Simmons abducted her?" Derick inquired through dry lips, and a tongue which carried a bitter taste.

To his conjoined surprise and dismay, Mcclay's expression grew dire. The Hammerite watched the artificial life begin to fade from those wizened, bear-like eyes.  
"Because Lord Simmons would have never taken her away in the first place, if not for my careless behavior."

"I beg your pardon?!" Derick raised an eyebrow at Mcclay's confession.

"The details no longer matter, young man. What has been done, can never be reversed. All I can do now, is approach that poor young girl, and ask her for forgiveness."

That was all Keeper Mcclay added to the dismal conversation, before turned to descend deeper into his hideout. But a strong hand clasped his bony shoulder first. The Keeper gazed over his shoulder, and met the earnest eyes of a prepared Hammerite. He smirked, half-expecting to be halted by this point.

"Dawn then. We shall tell her together."

Keeper Mcclay ever so gradually, began to smile. A sensation as ineffable as it was treasured, best described the sheer significance of the loyalty he observed in Derick at that moment. Without his notice, the Hammerite had forged an unlikely bridge between their souls.

An inconceivable act of kindness.

"Then let it be so," Mcclay replied.

***

**THE NEXT MORNING:**

She was surprised-to say the least-when Gwenevere opened her bedroom door the following morning; only to be greeted by two of her dearest friends. Keeper Mcclay, and Derick Garrision. They wore strained smiles upon their faces, expressions which poorly concealed the untold misery just beneath.

"Why good morning you guys," the wood nymph greeted with a flamboyant giggle. The two men said nothing, Derick's hands beginning to tremble around the piping hot mug of coffee he held. Needless to say, he was most grateful for his gauntlets at that moment.

The Keeper peered around Gwenevere, observing that Garrett was-as expected-still resting within the bed. Pilfur lay atop his stomach, enjoying the warmth of his comfortable-albeit slightly concave-water bed. It would seem that dawn was indeed the perfect opportunity to snag the moonlighter's diurnal lady friend away for a few hours.

"Good morning, young Gwenevere," Mcclay spoke, taking notice of how Gwenevere was still smiling up at them both. "May Derick and I have a moment of your time?"

"Well, I haven't eaten breakfast yet, or even brushed my hair," the nymph chirped, motioning to her unkempt head of frizzy red hair," but okay!"

"Methinks that possibly, we could all grab a bite to eat together," the Hammerite encouraged. "I'll pay."

"Really?!" Gwenevere's eyes lit up like enchanted gemstones. "Wow, that'd be great! There's this charming little bakery I've been meaning to try. We should go there!" She looked up at Keeper Mcclay, as if in search of some sign of approval. But the elder seemed a world away.

"Whatever you like, child," he muttered. Gwenevere frowned.

"Keyper Mcclay? Are you alright?" she pointed to Derick, who was staring down at his murky reflection within his steamy beverage. Unclear-just as he was at that moment. "Why Derick! You're shaking! Whatever is the matter with you two?"

"Our unrest, is due to that which must be explained after breakfast," the Hammer replied, taking a brief sip of his coffee.

Gwenevere was now quite concerned over the welfare of her two close friends. She knew that whatever had them both this nervous, had to be serious. Gwenevere looked back at Garrett once, making sure he was still asleep before closing the door behind her.

Unfortunately for the spirited creature, he wasn't. Furthermore, he had heard the entire conversation.

***

Strolling through the balmy gloom of an early summer morning, the three unlikely fellows made their way to the local bakery. After purchasing a few scones and a rather squashed blueberry bagel, Gwenevere and her companions headed out of The City, and into the forest. The nymph made nary a sound, as she followed Keeper Mcclay down the weed-choked dirt paths, which the elder seemed to know almost as well as she. Derick brought up the rear, the Hammerite clearly uneasy, being this out of his element.

"So, where are we going?" Gwenevere asked, after being quiet for nearly half an hour. A practical record for her.

"To a place where none will dare follow," Mcclay responded, slicing through the thick underbrush with an enchanted blade. It appeared very similar to the one Sandris carried.

"Keeper," Derick Garrision intervened, "you spoke naught of a descent into the forest."

The ancient sentinel turned around, glowering up at the Hammer through mysterious brown eyes. He raised an eyebrow at the young man's apprehension, his lips parting to reveal a dank hollow from which marvelous philosophy often flowed forth.

"If this wood is not to your liking, Hammerite, then leave now. I choose to tell her here!"

Derick sighed, his face one of resignation. Gwenevere's expression grew inquisitive.

"Huh? Tell me what?" she asked, her irises glinting like fireflies amidst the shadowy canopy.

Keeper Mcclay tensed mid-step at the unexpected question. Looking over his shoulder, he spotted the sack of treats clutched tightly between Gwenevere's tiny hands.

"Let us eat our breakfast first, child. Then, we shall tell you why we came here."

***

"Now Gwenevere, if you're indeed ready to listen," Keeper Mcclay cleared his throat, watching as the nymph finished nibbling up the last few morsels of her scone.

"Derick Garrision and I must acknowledge the truth of why we brought you here."

"For a breakfast picnic?" Gwenevere giggled, spraying a mouthful of crumbs in random directions. The Keeper wiped one such crumb from his sleeve, and smiled down at her.

"Unfortunately, that was purely a means to an end, my dear. A peace offering, if you will."

But although his lips appeared jolly, something deep within his eyes told the curious girl a far different story. Craning her head to the side like a confused puppy, Gwenevere stared blankly up at the man whom had taught her so very much.

"Peace offering?" her green eyes next fell upon the distressed Hammerite, who was gulping down his bagel with some difficulty. "Derick? What's this all about?"

The elder smirked in the righteous warrior's direction, prompting Derick to accidently swallow a rather large bite of his breakfast.

"I believe that the lady has chosen you to explain yourself first, Hammerite."

Derick leered at the ancient. That cunning smirk upon Mcclay's wrinkled lips never failing to irk him in the most personal of ways whenever it made it's debut.

"Very well," he grunted, turning around on his makeshift stump chair to face Gwenevere. She was still awaiting an explanation to all of this secretive behavior. Her friends never kept things from her like this! Or at least, so she thought.

"Derick?" the nymph encouraged her unlikely confidant, her fingers tapping in anticipation against her exposed knees.

The Hammerite stilled himself for the worst, and locked eyes with those of perpetual greenery and impossible dreams. This, was the hour of that which the holy man had dedicated so much towards. His spiritual odyssey, his prayers. His entire existence. For this, was the hour of truth.

"Gwenevere. Once, before I came to be your friend; I was a high-ranking Hammerite."

"Oh? Is that all Derick?" Gwenevere began to relax a bit. Began to smile. "Well sure silly! I already figured _that _out!" The stoic warrior shook his head, rays of sunlight catching the healing edges of a recent scar.

"No, no you do not understand," Derick gulped.

This girl, whom he now likened to a younger sister...she was so trusting, so innocent. Even after the months she had spent aiding the poor, exposed to the ugliest aspects of this morose, putrid city, Gwenevere had always maintained a flawless purity within her soul. She was wiser now, as her eyes had been opened to the harsh realities of life. But there were always moments such as this, when the girl proved beyond any doubt, that there were parts of her heart still left untainted.  
The next words the Hammer spoke, destroyed a section of his own. Of this, he was entirely certain.

"Gwenevere. You know of the threatening letters you received whilst living in Nethalzia? Of...the assassin?"

"Yes?" It was clear that she was growing worried again, her smiled shrinking back into a curious pout.

"Gwenevere," Derick squeezed his eyes shut," it was my job, to send those letters. To hire that assassin."

He dared not open his eyes, especially as he heard the nymph gasp. He could only imagine that fresh tears accompanied that reaction, ruining her otherwise perfect morning.

"W-why would you do those awful things?!" the young woman whispered, her face aghast. He seized and shook, clenching his teeth and fists together in gyrating, self-deprecating hatred.

"Forgive me! I-I was blinded by the High Priest's words. His madness. I was only striving to do good by The Builder, but I was led astray by the very man I once trusted the most."

"Indeed, it is a tragedy," Keeper Mcclay commented sorrowfully. "There is no manner of men more putrid and vile, than those who would lead a valiant heart astray with lies, and promises of righteousness."

Derick continued to lament his personal folly and sins. Keeper Mcclay, was right. His honor had been slandered by that pious madman. No, not just his honor, but his very soul. Had such acts denied him his eternal resting place at the feet of The Builder?! Derick could not be certain, and he shuddered at the very thought. If only he had of known! If only he'd forged his own destiny away from Father Volkorn's noxious, maddened plots and schemes.

_Perhaps...perhaps everything would be different now..._

A faint rustling of leaves drew the Hammerite's mind from that dismal world of what could have been. The sound of birds chirping, of Gwenevere breathing-they drew him back, even closer to the truth. No. What had occurred would have happened regardless of his decisions or not. Hindsight was a worthless torment. It served no purpose, save to make one forget their personal value in lieu of recent mistakes. It was what he had done thereafter these frightful mistakes, which now shaped the man. Derick, slowly began to remember that.

After all, had he left the order sooner, he would never have been present to witness the true insanity and barbarism of the High Priest. Had his fury over such unholy acts not been stoked, Derick Garrision indeed had to wonder if he would have joined Gwenevere's resistance at all. Whatever unknown paths or scenarios he could have traversed, one thing was now clear as glass. He was a better man for having experienced such things.

"Derick?" Gwenevere's voice sounded like a cry caught in a vicious gale. The Hammerite summoned enough strength to open his eyes, squinting at her as if he expected her to strike him for such transgressions. But to his surprise, the wood nymph appeared far from angry.

"Yes?"

The nymph wiped her face, and gradually began to gather herself. Then, she spoke-and her answer surprised him.

"I believe you, Derick," Gwenevere whispered, her tears letting up a bit, "and I forgive you."

Now, it was Derick's turn to be rushed with powerful emotion. His scarred lips parted, to give way to an honest, gracious smile.

"Thank you, my lady. I know that I am not worthy of such forgiveness, yet I thank you nonetheless," he responded with a brisk nod. Gwenevere, nodded back, before standing and enshrouding the bulky activist in a generous embrace.

"You're always gonna be my friend, Derick. No matter what you did in your past, nothing will ever change that."

Keeper Mcclay watched as the two friends hugged and cried together. But his heart was troubled. His only hope, now lay in the hands of this woodland princess, and her forgiving heart. Cedric Mcclay was not a man of chance, but in that frigid moment there in the forest, he hoped against all odds, that Gwenevere would forgive him as well.

Because it was now his turn to confess. And his, was a secret far more sinister.


	88. Chapter 88

After what seemed like an eternity captured and witnessed through the eyes of a deity, Derick and Gwenevere let each other go. They were still smiling, tears of indescribable emotion streaming down their faces. Keeper Mcclay frowned. He knew that such emotions would not last. Because now, it was his turn.

"Gwenevere. Are you ready to hear _my_ secret?" he asked, his voice nearly breaking halfway through. The little nymph gawked up into the most stoic set of eyes she had ever witnessed.

"Well, okay then!" she giggled, far less apprehensive now.

Though she should have been. After all, the worst was yet to come.

She hopped upright, and twirled over to hug Keeper Mcclay-the man whom had become almost a father-figure to her over the last few months. But to her dire dismay and shock, he recoiled, brushing away her opening arms.

"Don't," he began in a hushed, almost perverted imitation of the voice which was truthfully his own. "No, dear girl. You wouldn't want to do that." Gwenevere cocked her head.

"Keyper Mcclay?"

The nymph did not understand. Keeper Mcclay was her mentor now, her counselor and her paternal guide. Why was he suddenly acting so coldly, when faced with a sign of gratitude he'd accepted many times before? That's when the grim sentinel faced the girl. His eyes were dark, as if two ominous storm clouds fueled by rolling thunder had just taken up residency within his mind. And in many respects, they had.

"Now listen carefully, young Gwenevere. What I am about to explain might make you very upset. It might very well obliterate any and all trust and care you hold for me," he explained in a deadpan, incredibly serious tone.

"I-I'm afraid I don't understand. How could you think I'd ever stop caring for you Keyper Mcclay?!" the girl sniffed, growing concerned. "You're one of my friends too! Just like Derick!"

Perhaps that was true. Keeper Mcclay genuinely hoped it was. But hoping for something does not make reality turn in on itself and disappear. Logic dictated the order of this world, and the wise man knew, that logically, there was no way Gwenevere could forgive what he was about to say.

"Gwenevere, you already know that I was aware of Lord Simmons," he began with a dry mouth, and crestfallen expression. "Well, Simmons discovered my notes regarding the Last Mother, child. That is why he purged your village."

His shoulders sank as the reveal left his tongue, his arms hanging limply as if now devoid of any magic. That brilliant splendor which had always resided within his great brown eyes, fizzled out.

Gwenevere had always wondered just how a Mechanist could learn something so confidential about the Pagans. Her people safeguarded such information so thoroughly, that even Gwenevere-the subject of all such secrecy-still did not fully comprehend the full weight of her presence. Let alone the true extent of her power, or why she had indeed been created in the first place. But something still didn't fit inside her mind. If Lord Simmons had indeed discovered such forbidden knowledge, then why had her kidnapper allowed Keeper Mcclay to remain unscathed? After all, carrying around anything even slightly relevant to the enemy faction, was a grievous crime.

"How did you escape?" she asked, bewildered.

"Escape? Ah, how I wish it were the case," the elder proclaimed. "No, my dear. I did _not_ escape. I was subject to questioning. Brutal, questioning."

Gwenevere's eyes went wide, as did Derick Garrision's.

"They...tortured you?!" she gasped. Then, another thought-and this one caused her little heart to capsize into a sea of all-encompassing dread. "Again, how did you get away?"

Mcclay took a long breath before continuing. She was starting to put the pieces together in her mind.

"Because of my loyalties to both the Keepers and the Pagans, I had to think up some rather elaborate lies in order to be released. So I feigned Mechanist. I told them that I was merely studying what we were all up against. As much as it made me die inside."

"What...kind of lies?" Gwenevere raised an eyebrow.

"I told them the legend of the Last Mother in my own words, to further provide believability to my story. I told them why she was so dangerous, and what The Builder commanded his disciples to do unto her broken form. How her blood could be used to bend reality to her slayer's will. Father Karras would never have bought it; this I knew instantly. But Simmons...he was of a different breed entirely. A desperate, power-hungry fool."

Gwenevere stood silent, waiting for when it would be her chance to speak again. Pandora's box had just been opened by this Keeper's hand, and the nymph wanted to know everything. Gwenevere now stood on the precipice of a terrible reveal, and she knew it.

"My plan worked, young Gwenevere. I was freed with no repercussions. But when I returned to the village, I found I was already too late. Simmons had purged the wood, looking for the Last Mother I spoke of. Looking for you. But without your mother's branches to shield and battle for them this time, the Pagans were completely wiped out. There were but a handful of survivors of that horrible night, and they scattered to the winds. I, was directly responsible."

Gwenevere's eyelashes pricked at the warm tears as they came streaming down her face. They were no longer those of happiness. Out of all the abhorrent truths Keeper Mcclay had just administered, two words resonated with the most clarity.

Your mother.

"You knew my mother?!" Gwenevere blurted, once the elder had momentarily succumbed to his pain and indescribable guilt.

Keeper Mcclay cringed at the sheer disbelief and desperation he heard within the little nymph's voice. He knew that she wanted answers about her deceased parent which he could not provide. Questions left shattered by the wayside because of his own folly.

"Yes," his confession was laced with a deep remorse, and unyielding agony. "And I am gravely sorry for your loss, child. I tried to stop her from leaving that night. I pleaded for her to graciously reconsider the outcome of her actions. But she saw my words as implications of a weakness _she _did not possess."

Gwenevere never broke eye contact with him. She had trusted this man, defended him against the words of the person she cared about more than anyone else in this world. And now, she was faced with the most unsettling of truths. Even if he had never intended for it to happen this way, Keeper Mcclay's carelessness had been partially responsible for what had happened to her. More tears began to form within her eyes; thick, and congealed with sap. Keeper Mcclay took another step towards her.

"What happened then?" Her voice was practically ordering Keeper Mcclay to finish his story. He did so, and in a voice which betrayed his deep discomfort.

"After she sent me away, I knew what must be done. I had overhead her meeting with Dyan and Larkspur. Hence my grave concern over the situation. I sent word to Artemus, knowing that he alone stood a chance of reaching Garrett that night. But I was too late. We were all, too late to save your mother, young Gwenevere. And you have my sincerest apologies for that."

"What do you mean by, 'we alone'?"

"Derick," Mcclay finally acknowledged the stunned Hammerite, "leave us, boy. The time has come."

The righteous warrior had heard every syllable of this treacherous tale, and it infuriated him. Derick had no clue as to just how or why Gwenevere was reacting so calmly to it all. The poor girl had just been bombarded with more betrayal and lies than most are subject to in a lifetime. Yet, she didn't move, and she didn't speak. She simply stared up at Keeper Mcclay, unable to fully process or believe any of what he was telling her.

Gwenevere's eyes began to shimmer, as memories from months gone by began to parade throughout her subconscious. Had Garrett been correct to judge Mcclay so harshly? Or was this all just an honest mistake? She didn't know what to believe anymore.

"I will go, if that is what SHE desires," the Hammer spoke in an adamant tone. Keeper Mcclay's eyes narrowed in cold ire, but he did not object. Derick turned to his young friend, and clasped a firm gauntlet over her frail shoulder. Gwenevere met his pensive stare, her expression a world away.

"Do you wish for me to stay, Gwenevere?" he glowered up at the wayward sage. "Do you feel safe alone with this man?"

Gwenevere gradually managed a weak little nod, still refusing to break eye contact with the patient Keeper. Some part of her was afraid to disagree with him. Some part of her worried, that Mcclay would never finish his story about her mother, if Derick remained now.

"Yes, i-it's okay, Derick," she stammered. The Hammerite released a loud breath from his nostrils. It was evident that even if his surrogate sibling was alright with this arrangement, he, was not.

"As you wish, my lady," he bowed, and began marching out of the overgrown wood. Keeper and wood nymph, were left alone.

Or so they thought.

Moments of icy trepidation slowed time to an inexhaustible crawl, until the cautious elder at last felt confident enough with the solitude of their situation to finish what he had begun.

"Young Gwenevere. The thief was correct in assuming that I hadn't told you everything. But I never wanted to use or manipulate you, child. I was always trying to protect you from my own mistakes. I am sorry that you ever found yourself within this disaster."

"Yes, I understand that part," Gwenevere snipped, "How does that tie in with my mother?"

Keeper Mcclay felt his arms growing numb. He wasn't sure if this was due to stress, or merely the awkward position they had remained in for the duration of this morbid conversation. He broke eye contact with Gwenevere, allowing his gaze to fall to the forest floor. This endless earthy carpet had soaked up so much blood over the centuries, swallowed so many innocent bones. A chill ran down the robed man's spine, when he lamented the fact that such slaughter was far from ancient.

Far, from over.

"The others of my order, had already foreseen Viktoria's singular war against Karras's stronghold. They thought it would be for the best to simply let her die. Artemus and I...we did not agree with this decision."

The ultimatum of his words speared the nymph through her rosewood heart. Her celadon irises contracted, gleaming like those of a predator. Anger gave way to bitterness and anguish, as the budding nymph seethed beneath the pressure of a thousand unpleasant recollections. How her mother and her savage fervor, could have prevented all of them. But instead, these cloaked men of mystery and shadow, had done nothing to stop her berserk quest for blood on that night.  
They wanted her to fail. They _anticipated_ it. Because they _knew_ of the outcome. Knew of the iron beasts, and barren steel of that hellish citadel. They knew, that no woodsie woman could ever demolish such a structure alone. Yet, they did nothing.

"Why would they want my mother to die?!" Gwenevere bleated, her eyes now rushing with thick tears of honey-colored sap.

"Because the Keepers demand sacrifice. They wanted you flushed out. They told me that you could best be observed if the Pagans weren't hiding you. Try to understand, young Gwenevere, of the sacrifices I have made to keep our world intact! If you had of risen to godhood, and we were not prepared-"

"-NO! You lied to me! You left your wife and so many others to die at the hands of those mechanized wolves!" Then, the unexpected. Gwenevere, not only gathered herself in an almost sporadic matter of time, but she also collected herself just enough to meditate clearly on her next, biting words. "But what should I be expecting, from a man who abandons his own children for almost two decades?"

"Gwenevere. That is another matter entirely," the Keeper barked, obviously unnerved by her accusation. He took a moment to steady his nerves before continuing. "Regardless, you have every right to be angry."

"Angry?" Gwenevere's brows furrowed. "No. I'm not angry Keyper Mcclay. Just ashamed."

"Over my actions?"

"No. I'm beyond feeling a taffing thing for you," she snarled. "I'm ashamed at myself, for ever trusting you."

"Gwenevere..." Mcclay reached out. But the little nymph backed up with a capricious smirk.

"Ya know? It actually makes me feel very sad, to admit that Garrett-the most biased and bitter human I've ever met-was right about you," she hesitated, before facing Mcclay. Allowing him to see the shattered trust within her drenched eyes. Then the nymph cried out, in a voice reminiscent of a howling wolf, "I thought Keypers stood for more than that! I thought Keypers, _were_ more than that!"

"You indeed speak the truth, child. I was not powerless to stop what transpired, but all the same, I did nothing," the sentinel admitted callously. "A Keeper's job, is to watch, Gwenevere. And I did just that."

Gwenevere felt the anger melt from her veins, as hot anguish took its place. Never in her life had she felt so hurt, not even by Garrett. At least the thief was always honest in his intentions-albeit to a fault sometimes. But as she stood there, gazing into the face of a man she had trusted, aided, and cared for deeply, Gwenevere felt positively gutted at the realization of his true nature.

His true intentions had never been about her, or Sophie, or even his family. Keeper Mcclay, was a scholar. He was a seeker of truth and prophecy. In the end-just as Garrett had warned her-knowledge, was apparently all that mattered to him.

"Who are you?!" she whispered, as the tears streamed down her face. Keeper Mcclay tried to smile, tried to reassure her. But it was fruitless.

"Someone who cares deeply for you. Someone who wants you to discover the truth about the world you live in, even if you will hate me for it," he replied with diligence. But the girl no longer believed him.

Keeper Mcclay began to frown. Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew a shimmering glass device. As he held it out to her, the sunlight caught the edges, creating a gorgeous prism of color that danced across Gwenevere's heartbroken face.

"What is that?" she mumbled, wiping a tear from her eye.

"This, is a gift from me. I once promised to help you reclaim your childhood memories, if you aided my research. But I cannot do that, Gwenevere. Your memories were always yours. They are still within you, if you dare to only search your darkest subconscious for them," the strange object glistened beneath his wrinkled fingertips. "So, I wish for you to take this, instead. It's a conduit-a relic once used by the ancient Keepers to both harness, and restore their powers. Please take it, along with my thanks."

Gwenevere glowered at the sparkling gem within her betrayer's fingers. She hesitated, before stepping closer to Mcclay.

"I-I don't want it..."

"I'm sorry?"

With the amazing agility and speed of her feral forebears, the nymph hissed, violently slapping the meaningless trinket from the Keeper's hand with a barbed vine.

"I SAID I DON'T WANT IT!" she snarled, baring her teeth. They were now pointed, her eyes flashing a gory red.

"Child?" Keeper Mcclay took on a look of genuine concern, as the nymph's fearful features faded into those of a hopeless girl.

"First you lie to me, and now you patronize me with shameless bribery! I don't understand anything about you anymore, Keyper Mcclay! You admitted that you could have changed things for my mother; my people. For me!" Gwenevere fell to her knees, and broke apart sobbing. "So why then? Why didn't you use your knowledge and power to come rescue me from your own mistake?! If it truly was a mistake, why didn't _you _take me away from Simmons?!"

"Gwenevere, we have already gone over this. During the time of your abduction, the hag Gamall was after me. I couldn't risk exposing myself like that. A valiant rescue, would have been far too risky."

"Well then why the hell didn't you Keepers ask _me _to do it?" a rough voice demanded from the treetops. Gwenevere gasped, looking up in time to see Garrett standing atop the bough of a grand sycamore tree. "You treated me like your handfed errand boy back then, after all. Sending me into danger to retrieve a holy relic _and_ a freakish mummified hand-you'd think rescuing a little girl to fix your taff-up would be a complimentary bonus."

"Why Garrett. What a pleasant surprise," Keeper Mcclay ground his teeth.

The thief leapt from his hiding place, landing in a hunched manner to break his fall. One hand still pressed against the cool earth, Garrett glared up at the ancient Keeper, before producing his bow. He then stood, and took apathetic aim at the elder whom had just broken his nymph.

"G-Garrett!" Gwenevere sobbed, getting to her feet and rather clumsily rushing to his side. The girl buried her face against his chest, and continued to cry. Through her grateful embrace, the thief's aim never faltered. And his menacing eyes, never left Keeper Mcclay.

"This, was exactly what I was trying to warn you about, Gwenevere," Garrett sneered, pulling back the bowstring. He had a vicious serrated arrow poised at the ready. "No matter how nice they treat you, no matter how badly you may wish it were true in your darkest hour; Keepers, don't give a damn about anyone but themselves."

Keeper Mcclay didn't try to run. He had considered the scant possibility that the thief would tail him here, and he was quite certain that Garrett had overheard everything.

"You've been waiting to do this for a while, Garrett. Or so it would seem," the elder wheezed. Garrett pulled the arrow back even further, until the bowstring grew taut.

"Right back where we started, eh Vandolyn? Only this time, your augmented little attack dog isn't here to protect you."

"V-Vandolyn?" Gwenevere whimpered, craning her neck to look up at Garrett.

"That's right. Cedric Mcclay didn't exist until fifteen years ago. This man before you Gwenevere, is a fraudulent Keeper," the thief proclaimed with a deep ire.

He watched as the Keeper's posture slumped, as if utterly defeated when faced by the truth. But Mcclay was far from finished, and Garrett knew that.

"Perhaps, it was indeed I, who was brethren and betrayer all those years ago, Garrett. But not now. If my motivations were indeed corrupt, what purpose would being open and kind to your girl really serve?" Mcclay inquired. But the thief, wasn't about to fall for any of his notorious emotional manipulation.

"What do you take me for?! You got close to her, so that you could manipulate her!"

"Initially," Mcclay admitted, prompting the little nymph to shiver with pain. "But time may change even the most focused of hearts."

"And just what are you so focused on anyway, Vandolyn? Tearing her away from me?" Garrett accused, preparing to take the shot.

"Is that how you perceive it dear boy?"

"Don't talk about me like I'm not even here!" Gwenevere suddenly squawked, breaking away from her thief to stand between the two hooded men.

Her face was more focused and afraid than Garrett had ever seen it before. So much maturity illuminating her devotion. A luster that refused to be diminished by the selfish acts of mortal men. "Keyper Mcclay did something...revolting. But that doesn't mean that he can't still one day repent for his crimes!"

"Child, your faith is such a precious gift," Mcclay began grimly. "Please do not waste it on me. It's far too late for any of that."

"I'll say," Garrett sneered. "By a couple dozen centuries, at least."

The elder faced him, his expression fiery with intrigue. Mutual contempt surged between their deadly, pensive eyes; though one of them kept his true intentions better hidden than the other.

"What is it that you think you are about to do, Garrett?" Mcclay questioned, as casual as any afternoon chat.

"Maybe I'm thinking about finishing what Gamall should have fifteen years ago," the thief's eyes narrowed, his right emitting a horrible buzzing noise as it zoomed in on the Keeper's heart.

Garrett, took the shot.

In a flash of vibrant red, Gwenevere jolted into action. With the pristine agility of a ferocious great cat, she pounced upward. The air beneath her felt chilly and light against her honed flesh. Garrett couldn't be sure, but he could have sworn that she looked him directly in the eyes, as she snapped the arrow from the sky. The wood nymph landed in a quite primitive position, the deadly projectile still locked behind her savage jaws. Then, with an almost unnatural twist of character, she spat the arrow to the forest floor, and her green eyes grew from wild to almost desperate.

Garrett lowered his bow, gawking down at her with keen intrigue. It amazed the thief, just how agile and accurate she had become during her stent as a vigilante leader. This was the most nymph-like, Gwenevere had ever acted. Secretly, it both delighted, and unnerved him. An peculiar sensation, to say the least.

"Gwenevere?" he began, most curious to hear just why she had disrupted his attack. Gwenevere's glassy eyes, overflowed with tears for the third time that day.

"Garrett! Please listen to me! Keyper Mcclay may be a dishonest, bad man. But if you kill him, won't that just make you the same?"

"Tch, no!" Garrett snorted.

Even if the girl had grown in her maturity, her naivety and odd sense of morality were both still very much present.

But before another word could be uttered by either thief or creature of the untamed wood, Keeper Mcclay, began to laugh under his breath. Garrett glared at him, gripping his bow until his knuckles turned a sick shade of white.

"What the hell are you on about now, Mcclay?" the thief demanded, clenching his teeth.

Keeper Mcclay ceased his chortling, and looked Gwenevere dead in the eyes. These were no longer the eyes of a beloved and trusted mentor. These, were the enigmatic, detached eyes of a very powerful, very tortured man. But in spite of all of that, it was what the ominous sentinel said next, that sent an unwavering chill down Garrett's spine.

"Don't be ridiculous, child. Your thief, cannot kill me."

With that, Keeper Mcclay turned around, and sauntered off into the depths of the forest. The sound of Gwenevere's own sobs lamented the terrible reality of his actions, forever breaking a piece of his soul. The trees seemed to be growing darker, taller, as he traversed this unforgiving wood. The wind whispered accusations, and the eyes of every animal were cutting and accusatory.

No one saw the tears that left Keeper Mcclay's eyes, as the nomadic seeker made his way out of the forest. What he had done, could neither be reversed or forgiven. Death could not wash away the filth of his moral crimes, nor would it find him swiftly. There was only one way to silence the forbidden magic which kept the sentinel's heart beating. One, unspeakable way. A power, which had only been mastered by one solitary man.

Father Volkorn.


	89. Chapter 89

It all seemed to fall apart after that. Gwenevere couldn't remember much. She remembered leaning against her thief as he led her out of the forest. She remembered numbly returning to the hideout and securing both Pilfur, and her seeds. And she remembered crying for what felt like hours, upon returning to the abandoned training house Garrett now called home.

He had tried to calm her, whispering a raspy litany which was composed of little more that the nymph's name, or the occasional, _'you're alright now'_. Gwenevere couldn't have cared less about any of what he had said, even if Garrett had been a Master Philosopher, rather than the emotionally-challenged introvert that he was.  
The Keeper's treachery had snapped her trust in humanity like a flimsy twig. When she did eventually summon enough strength to look Garrett dead in the eyes, it was as if the entire world had been reset. The nymph no longer saw this place through the eyes of an optimistic child. Instead, and for the first time in her overly-accepting life, Gwenevere could finally see just how ugly this city truly was.

Except for her thief.

He, was still the same however. And he, was all she had left.

When she found herself at last able to tear her mind from that torrential anguish, Gwenevere looked at Garrett, her lips parting to form one simple phrase.

"I'm sorry."

The thief stared into her through a livid set of eyes. Eyes that had seen the entire foundation of what he believed crumble and rebuild time and time again. But seeing _her_ broken...that was another matter entirely. Garrett had never seen her so utterly destroyed.

Before thinking better of it, he grabbed up his nymph and held onto that broken creature as tightly as possible.

"Gwenevere," Garrett murmured, "you, have absolutely nothing to apologize for." His words sent the fragile girl wailing.

"Yes I do!" she sniffed and snorted through her tears. "You tried to warn me about Keyper Mcclay, a-and I d-didn't listen!"

The thief began to shush her, stroking her red bangs away from her saturated green eyes before they could get wet.

"You thought I was being stubborn. Bitter. Who could really blame you, after my history with the Keepers anyway?"

Gwenevere said nothing. He was right. She _had _thought her thief bitter-a man acting against an innocent who reminded him of a most unkind portion of his life. Unfortunately, Garrett had a very different set of reasons for despising Mcclay. Information which the wood nymph now understood; far too late.

"I just..." she began, her turbulent mind desperately searching for the correct words, "...Keyper Mcclay seemed different than any of the others who tried to deceive me. I thought he genuinely cared about me."

"He was just better at hiding his true intentions," the thief's callous mannerisms returned. "Keepers are some of the best deceivers around, I think you'll find."

Gwenevere wiped the tears from her eyes, and just gawked at him for several moments.

"Garrett?"

"What?"

"They..." she knew better than to say it, but something within plied those next resisting words from her tongue, "...they raised you. They taught you how to sneak about, how to deceive when necessary. I've seen you do it!"

"Gwenevere, not this again..." Garrett groused. "I'm really in no-"

"-So why is it, that you're nothing like them?!" she screamed, the pressure simply too much.

Garrett just stared at her, transfixed by her question. Wasn't it obvious to her by now? The thief indeed had Keeper training. Keeper talents. But they were of his own design. He was balanced-when pertaining to his physical agility. He was learned and wise-in regards to how to survive the dreary little shadows of this perilous world he lurked within. But perhaps the most glaring juxtaposition, was the simple fact that the thief used knowledge when it benefitted him-whereas, the Keepers, seemed almost ruled by it. Poisoned by it. Obsessed.

They would do anything to obtain it. Life and happiness were mere words to be tossed aside, in pursuit of prophecy.

"Because Gwenevere," Garrett began. "I chose not to be."

It wasn't the thief's best answer. But for the little nymph, it was enough. Gwenevere opened her mouth to cry again, but nothing was left. With a dull, hollow moan, she collapsed into Garrett's lap.

Her thief was nothing like those who had raised him. And she was glad of it.

***

The waning moonlight added a feeling of trepidation to the stormy night sky. Keeper Mcclay stood alongside Sandris, looming at the summit of the hideout overlook. The rain didn't seem to bother him as it pelted mercilessly against his dark robes and cowl. Sandris glanced up at her mentor. He rarely spoke to anyone these days, and he hadn't even come down from the overlook. She was beginning to seriously worry about him.

"Keeper Mcclay?" she started.

"Have you prepared the letters, Sandris?" Mcclay spoke in a monotone mutter.

The maskless Enforcer felt herself cringe. Mcclay had instructed her to seal a series of letters to his close friends and family. This included his two children, Ayeena and Nellarose. There was also a rather long letter addressed to Sophie. Against all of her discipline and training, Sandris had gone against her orders and read them all. The messages they contained, were perhaps what bothered her more than anything. These letters seemed to suggest that her handler was going away-for a very, very long time.

"I have, Keeper," the Enforcer shot her commander a bothered glance. Her two-toned blue eyes appeared nothing short of menacing in the moonlight.

"Good," Mcclay responded, never breaking his gaze from the empty abyss of thundering sky. The grin of that crescent moon seemed to be mocking him.

"Keeper Mcclay, why are you doing this really?" Sandris inquired, against her better judgement. The disheveled old sentinel turned to face his bodyguard.

"Sandris, you have read my letters haven't you?"

"You know I would have figured it out eventually, surely?" she encouraged. Keeper Mcclay released a pent-up sigh.

"Very well, Sandris. It might bring me some comfort to confide in another, after all," his expression darkened. "I have hurt the nymph they call Gwenevere. And while I should not allow this to interfere with my balance nor purpose, I find such conscientious guilt nigh impossible to ignore. So I am going away for a while, Sandris. To meditate, and to hopefully forgive myself."

Sandris's eyes widened, her face contorting in mortified bewilderment.

"You're...leaving without me?!" she stammered, absolutely terrified at the idea of being alone again. "B-but I've always been by your side on your travels, Keeper Mcclay!"

"Not this time, Sandris..."

Condensed fear grappled at the edges of the Enforcer's mind.

"You're not thinking of doing anything reckless, are you?" she questioned, watching her mentor with a critical gaze. Keeper Mcclay glowered at her accusation.

"A Keeper, is _never_ reckless, Sandris."

"Then what's with these letters?!" Sandris countered, throwing her arms up in desperation. "And why are these letters only addressed to those you care about the most?"

"Because I'm going out to find my balance, Sandris," the elder corrected.

Sandris backed down, lowering her head and clenching her teeth. The haze of that stormy sky enshrouded all but the bottom half of her face.

"It doesn't feel like you're going on a soul search, Keeper Mcclay," she spoke in a tone far softer than her normal voice. "It feels...it feels like you're saying goodbye."

The Keeper watched her intently as Sandris' posture stiffened. A clap of thunder roared savagely, and lightning lit up the night. The sheer luminosity revealed the conflicted expression upon his face, but Sandris was too beside herself to notice in that fleeting moment. Her blue eyes remained downcast, until Keeper Mcclay spoke again.

"And what if I am?" he muttered in a tired, bitter voice. Sandris jerked her face upright, her expression one of absolute shock.

"W-what?!" she gasped. "B-but why, Keeper?! Why would you even consider this?!"

"Perhaps there is no one in this entire world who could understand," Mcclay was facing the sky again. "After all, how many in this world possess eternal life? I've been alive for so very long, Sandris. Too long. The moment those forbidden glyphs touched my body, I lost the weakness that is death."

The Enforcer's face grew very pale.

"You...you mean to tell me, that you will never die?" she asked.

"There is indeed one way. But that would require the workings of one with likened abilities. Only they could ever hope to reverse this foolish mistake. And that one, has already met her fate."

Sandris gulped down a wad of unease. She knew exactly who Keeper Mcclay was talking about.

"Gamall..."

"Yes, loyal Sandris," Mcclay nodded. "And trust me when I say, that the hag was more than willing to end my life as well. But I was not ready to go then. Now, things are different."

"So you admit it! You AREN'T planning on ever coming back," Sandris hollered, tears flowing from her eyes. "You're planning on ending your existence!"

"No, not me. I am going to turn myself in to the High Priest. He alone has perfected a certain magic, which disables that of any other arcane being. It is more of a machine, to be entirely honest. The difficulty lies in getting the mage in question to sit within. But I, will be a willing participant."

Sandris couldn't take it anymore. Shaking her head violently, she lunged at Keeper Mcclay. She clung to his robes with the tenacity of a vicious animal. The elder was taken aback by this sudden outlash, but he refused to show it.

"No! I won't let you do this!" she screamed, "I am your Enforcer! It's my duty to protect you!"

Tears exited her eyes, her glyphs glowing a pale blue against the storm-laden heavens. A deep rumble in the far off distance pierced the night. A warm, comforting palm found her face, gripping lovingly along the back of her jawbone. Sandris gasped, tears leaving her eyes like shattered diamonds. Keeper Mcclay held her there, looking into her eyes with a level of affection and kindness that the hardened Enforcer was unfamiliar with.

"Then I release you," he crooned softly.

Sandris nearly felt herself break apart at those words. This man, was the reason she was alive! He had conscripted her from the others-those stodgy librarians who would sooner have seen her destroyed for her imperfections. Keeper Mcclay saw differently. He saw her usefulness, he praised her cleverness. But most importantly, he trusted her. He understood her, and he cared for her when no one else within his precious order had. This man, had saved her life. On that precious day, Sandris had personally dedicated the rest of her existence to protecting his.

"What?! No! You...you can't..." she broke away from his embrace, nearly backing up off the cliff in her horror.

"You were never fully augmented, Sandris. Be thankful for that," Mcclay replied in a tough, yet compassionate tone. Sandris flinched, as the frigid ultimatum tore into her. Nothing she could say would possibly be enough to persuade a man who already had all of the answers. Instead, rage took hold of her breaking heart.

"I'm...I'm your guardian. Your Enforcer! You can't just abandon me like this, Keeper Mcclay! You of all people know that I could never have a normal life!" she screamed at him.

"Do not attempt to manipulate me, Sandris!" Keeper Mcclay roared, as lighting flashed behind him. The young woman cowered slightly as another surge of electricity illuminated the ferocity of his intense features. "Do you really think I'd leave you for dead?! After all we've been through? All we've shared with each other?"

"No, I didn't see this coming," Sandris hissed in rebellion. She watched as the Keeper's anger slowly dissipated. A look of painful remorse now took hold of his features. The thunder in the distance, began to soften into a low rumble.

"You served me well, Sandris. Do not think I do not know that. But that chapter of your life is over. Now, you have an entire lifetime ahead of you, young one."

Keeper Mcclay took a weighted step towards her. When she did not back away, he embraced her tightly against his chest. Sandris began to snivel, when she felt how frail and boney her mentor had grown in his old age. Maybe, he really was at death's door. She didn't know what to believe anymore.

"Enjoy yourself," he whispered. Tears were now streaming freely from the Enforcer's widened two-toned eyes, and he knew it. In one last, seemingly futile act of compassion, Keeper Mcclay wiped one of these hopeless tears from the corner of her cheek. As he did so, she looked up at him. "And Sandris?"

"Y-yes Keeper Mcclay?" Sandris whispered.

"Promise me that you'll take good care of Toby." Sandris looked confused.

"Why? Tobias is my age, Keeper."

"That matters not. You both need to take care of each other, in my absence Sandris. You two are like siblings."

Sandris began to nod. She wasn't about to object to what was to be her final instruction from her mentor. It wasn't that she disliked Tobias, but the request seemed odd. Morbidly so. But if that was what he wanted, the Enforcer would give everything she had to bring the Keeper's needs into fruition.

"As you wish, Keeper Mcclay," she bowed her head. "Will that be all?"

"One more thing, loyal Sandris," the ancient sentinel smiled, his eyes so visibly tired and defeated. "Tell Ayeena and Nellarose...that I am very, very sorry..."

Sandris heard his voice crack as he reached the last few words, and the sensation it gave utterly tortured her. She did her best to cope after that, but found she could no longer make eye contact with the destroyed man.

"I promise," Sandris croaked.

The following morning, unhindered and free for the very first time in her life, Sandris sent the letters.

***

**THE CITY:  
THREE DAYS LATER:**

Across The City, the sounds of platters smashing and a woman yelling unspeakable curses disrupted the usually placid corners of South Street.

Keeper Mcclay stood firm, his expression unyielding and calm. Completely opposed to that of the shrieking woman before him. Sophie's steel blue eyes blazed with unimaginable pain as she hurled a teacup at him. The Keeper repeated the spell he'd used a good sixteen times that evening-he deflected the dish with a wave of his hand.

"You told me that you were trying to help her!" Sophie panted, her face sweltering with hot fury. "But it was YOU all along! You sold her out to Lord Simmons! You let her mother die! You are the cause of everything terrible in that poor girl's life!"

That was a bit of a stretch, but the motherly Sophie didn't care. She was too angry-far too hurt-to care. How dare that Keeper explain things in such a capricious fashion?! Sending her a lengthy letter, and then daring to come to her home after all she'd learned from Garrett and Gwenevere?! Even now, he refused to look her in the eyes. Refused to speak. Another plate careened through the apartment. Keeper Mcclay watched through unfeeling, defeated eyes as it clashed against the wooden floorboards. After what he had done, the elder knew he had no right to say another word to the woman he'd pained so intimately.

At last, her cupboard barren, the underworld matriarch fell to her knees. Her greying brunette hair was disheveled, her hands nicked and bloody from where the broken china had cut into her. Sophie didn't feel it yet; the adrenaline coursing through her rattled body saw to that.

"Why do I always do this to myself?!" she wept bitterly, slamming a fist against the lower-most kitchen cabinets. "Why do I always fall in love with these odd and indecipherable hooded men? What the hell's wrong with me?!" she whispered, sinking further down onto the floor.

Blood came away with her hand, leaving a grimy smear against the polished door. A crushed sigh left her pallid lips, still shuddering with rage and anguish.

The Black Alley Angel, had fallen.

As she sat there in a broken pile at his feet, Cedric Mcclay finally attempted to speak.

"Sophie. What a marvelous woman you are. I am deeply sorry that I ever brought pain unto one such as yourself."

She glowered up at him, those strong steel eyes of hers gyrating with an unhealthy mixture of foul emotions.

"I trusted you, Cedric..." was all she could manage. "I trusted you."

"I can say only this, my dear Sophie," the ancient began in a hushed voice. "Your trust was never misplaced."

Sophie felt her insides burn at that. With a newfound drive, she shot up from the floor, stormed over, and struck the Keeper as hard as she could. Keeper Mcclay kept his face turned, as he slowly chanced a gaze downward at the infuriated woman he loved so much.

"My trust was never misplaced?!" Sophie panted, strings of messy grey brunette pasted across her sweltering brow. "You lied to me, you lied to Gwenevere! You-"

"-I did NOT lie to anyone!" Keeper Mcclay bellowed, startling her.

Sophie took a few steps backwards, shocked by this sudden outburst. The Keeper faced her, massive torment written across his face like a constellation of true bereavement.

"I never played you false, Sophie, nor did I betray Gwenevere. I waited, until the day that I thought she would be able to handle the truth about her past. But apparently, I did not wait long enough."

"You could have told her from the beginning, you know?" Sophie argued. "Or what Garrett told me about it; you could have rescued her from your own stupid actions!"

"There are a few facts to which you are not fully cognizant, Sophie," Mcclay countered, his face still sore from her slap. "So allow me to enlighten you. If I had of told young Gwenevere the truth straight away, she would have most certainly forgiven me on the spot. When I first encountered that girl, she was far too innocent and naïve to grasp the true extent of my crimes."

Sophie shook her head. What Mcclay had explained sounded like nothing more than an absurd excuse for postponing the inevitable. It left her baffled. He was such a brilliant man-surly he could have spun a better story than _that!_ But that was when she realized, with a sickening twist of her stomach-the reason this was such a pathetic lie, was because it wasn't a lie at all. Keeper Mcclay, spoke the truth. She looked him over with mistrusting, yet curious eyes.

"You're saying that you allowed her to grow up some more before telling her?" she asked.

"Yes," Keeper Mcclay sighed hard.

"Even knowing that her budding maturity and willingness to comprehend your actions would increase the chances of her hating you?" the older woman bit her lip, her face beginning to bear some sparse signs of gradual understanding.

"No one wants to be hated, Sophie. Least of all by a loving and charming girl such as Gwenevere," he paused, as if allowing the true significance of those words to sink in. "Believe me when I say, that when someone like that turns away from you, it is a sign that you've just ruined something wonderful."

Sophie was rendered speechless. She allowed her bloodied hands to fall away to the sides of her apron, her mouth slightly agape. But before any words could spill out, he took a step backwards. Pushing his brown cowl back to reveal a balding head of brownish grey hair and strange tattoos, the sentinel groaned under the weight of his next statement.

"Garrett was right, and I know that now-far too late. It is no wonder that he is the chosen One True Keeper. We never listened to his words, nor heeded his warnings. And look at what has become of our order."

"Cedric?" Sophie reached out a hand to him, as Keeper Mcclay backed up further towards her front door. Even after all she had heard from Garrett, all that this man had done, she still did not wish him to leave. If only for the other side of that horrible story, which only the Keeper could convey.

"Gamall or not, Mechanists or not, I should have attempted to rescue that girl. I feared..." Mcclay's voice cracked, and he took a moment to glance up at the ceiling, gathering himself before continuing, "...but Alma was murdered anyway, wasn't she? I lost everything I cared about regardless..."

"You had to chose between your mistakes and your family," Sophie nodded, beginning to accept what had always been right in front of her eyes.

This was why he came to pursue Gwenevere. This was why he'd never gone back to report to the other Keepers. For Keeper Mcclay, this mission was about so much more than discovering secrets, or keeping them concealed. This mission, had been an attempt to repent for past sins.

It had been so many years now, and yet Keeper Mcclay still saw glyphs in his dreams. His student Artemus's body, stitched shoddily together like some demented suit. Gamall's hateful, greedy eyes leering out from his useless sockets. He couldn't save Artemus either. He could have been there when it all happened-he _should_ have! But when the hour had arrived, Keeper Mcclay had fled. He'd left the Keepers to suffer the fate of their own hubris, instead of confronting his old colleague on the field of battle.

In short, Gamall terrified him. Keeper Mcclay still recalled a time forgotten by all tomes, save those she had managed to secure in her dank and eerie subterranean layer. A time when he and the others-Gamall included-had been nothing more than four reckless acolytes in search of a thrill. That was how their friendship had begun. And ironically, the achievement of that thrill, was how it all unraveled.

He still remembered the stench of blood as in left Daegar's heart in great spurts. Somersault's demise was even more gristly. Men were not meant to make such noises. Perhaps they were why he'd managed to escape-fleeing with no shame, towards the exit of that rank, death-laden tomb. His companion's wails and shrieks, would be forever branded into his mind. As would the knowledge that Gamall-his most trusted friend-had mercilessly betrayed them all.

Centuries later, it only grew worse. Before the end, she was skinning men alive, and butchering little girls. Wearing that child's soul like a fine garment-that was what had caused Mcclay to leave the order for good. Despite what the others thought, he'd only ever gone back twice to any of the scattered Keeper compounds. To spirit Sandris away from sure death, and to hear the one prophecy which could help him find Gwenevere-and finally lay his lifetime of guilt to rest.

Keeper Mcclay, would never be returning to the order. This, he had decided. The old man looked upon Sophie one last time, little more than a shattered future left within his fading eyes.

_I tried to find happiness, Alma. I truly did,_ Keeper Mcclay sighed. _But there is no happiness left in this world for one such as I. Fossils, belong deep underground._

Keeper Mcclay did not feel the slight touch of Sophie's hand against his sleeve. He did not see the tears in her eyes. The brave woman held them there, her steadfast wings broken and plucked. Yet even now, the Black Alley Angel refused to abandon those whom she cared for the most. Perhaps he knew this. Much like Sandris, Keeper Mcclay realized that Sophie would never let him go. Never allow him to give in to the pulling despair of his inner demons.

He finally chanced a look at her, finally saw the tears in her intense iron stare. She began to speak.

"Cedric. I-I don't know what you've seen over the years," she began in a sympathetic, yet clearly flustered tone.

_Years..._the Keeper couldn't help but smile bitterly at her adorable ignorance.

"But what you did back then, verses what you have been doing lately. You've clearly changed. You want to set things straight, at all costs. I understand that now," she offered, squeezing his arm with passion. "And I...I want to help you do that."

Keeper Mcclay slowly looked up, his eyes concerned and wide. He believed her. But that was what bothered him the most. Sophie couldn't undo what he had done. She couldn't get Gwenevere or his children to forgive him for their fates. The past was tarnished, and there was nothing anyone could do about it. The Keeper had revealed his sins unto his victims. He had liberated those who swore allegiance to him. He had relinquished his last chance at happiness with this magnificent woman. There was nothing left to do now, but succumb to the inevitable. To meet the quiet enrapture of death's embrace.

"Sophie. In time, I hope you can forgive me," he started, cupping his wrinkled hands around hers. Sophie's eyes narrowed.

"What are you doing? What are you about to-"

"-You cannot save me, Sophie," he gave her a meaningful embrace, and began to rock her gently as she sobbed. "I know, my love. I know. You would give your all in order to fix the lives of those you care about. But Sophie, you must promise me that one day, you will finally begin caring for yourself," he locked eyes with her, and smiled, "the way I do."

"C-Cedric..."

"Promise me, Sophie," he encouraged. Sophie stiffened her posture, and nodded as sheepishly as a shy child.

"I'll do whatever it takes, to make you happy. To make you stay," she reassured. Keeper Mcclay shook his head with a frown.

"No. That is not what I asked. I want you, to make yourself happy, my darling." Sophie began to cry even harder than before.

"I-I'm not sure I know how," she whimpered. Keeper Mcclay reached up, and tenderly undid her bun. Waves of lavender-scented greying brunette came rippling down her neck in luscious waves. Mcclay's smile lengthened. Builder, how he loved her long flowing hair!

"By the gods, you're beautiful Sophie..." he whispered. As his frail hand came into contact with one of her liberated locks, Sophie shuddered back her emotion. "You deserve to be happy. That is my wish. I can die a happy man, if it means that you will remain content, my love."

"I promise you, I'll figure it out," Sophie managed, paying little attention to the words as they left her mouth. She would have said anything if it meant her Keeper would not depart. He, knew this.

"I pray that you are sincere, dear Sophie. Because the hour has come. Now, I must disappear."

"What?!" Sophie gasped in a breathless voice.

Just when she thought her heart couldn't shatter any further, Sophie found herself losing grip on reality. The room grew blurry and tilted, color dissipating all around her. Nothing felt real anymore. It was as if this entire conversation had been nothing but a cruel spell. As light began to consume the fragments and outlines of her living space, Sophie looked up to see Keeper Mcclay. His arms outstretched and his expression focused.  
_  
Cedric...don't do this..._she begged, praying that this Keeper indeed possessed telepathy. _Don't leave me..._

Darkness enveloped her mind, drawing her in. Quivering in her desperation, the underworld matriarch looked up at her Keeper, one last time. Due to the harsh luminosity of his spell, she couldn't be certain-but he seemed to be crying. A single blue rose, glimmering with an electric luster flashed across her subconscious, before all light dissipated from her mind...

***

The Keeper made his sojourn to the Lost City that day. It had been centuries since he'd retreated to the historical stillness of that place, but Keeper Mcclay was no fool. He had realized long ago that his sanctuary-his navigable relic-was all but destroyed. The Mechanists had ravaged those ancient walls nearly two decades before, leaving little more than a painful memory in their wake. Had the elder not already reached and fallen from the precipice of all hope, it surely would have disgusted him.

Father Karras's beloved children still populated the vast and hollow expanse of Karath-din. But like the forgotten souls of that once-prosperous city, they were now nothing more than forgotten husks. Some lay in rusted, shattered pieces at his feet. Others sat at crooked angles, partially submerged in sanguine pits of glowing magma. Burrick bones littered the corners of the tawny brick foundations, dispersed with glitchy watchers, and abandoned construction equipment. A stench unfamiliar to those of practical lifetimes now purged the ancient Keeper's nostrils.

Extinction.

That total loss of life was mournfully joined and lamented by the penetrating silence, and unaccommodating wafts of smog from all the wasted industry. Keeper Mcclay made no gesture of sadness or disappointment during the extent of his lonesome trek. He traversed the ruined world of whispers and dissipating calmness, with identical inertia.

Upon reaching a fading placard, the Keeper discovered that these diligent metal disciples were not all vanquished. They creaked and groaned as they lumbered towards the lone interloper upon rusted appendages. Karras's derisory speech impediment still exited their voice boxes, garbled and creaking. Mcclay wondered just how long it had been since some of these bots were serviced. One thing was certain however-none had seen any sort of repairs in close to twenty years. Yet they still followed the commandments of their gilded father eternally within the bowels of this forsaken place.

"Wretched intrudeeeeerrrrrrr..." the final word was almost completely a buggy screech. Keeper Mcclay cringed at the sound. He ground his teeth in mild frustration as he directed his forlorn eyes upwards to meet those of cold dead steel. He was far too despondent to deal with such a hindrance.

With a deep lungful of hollow, dusty air, Keeper Mcclay watched as five combat bots marched out of the darkness at the cry of their comrade. If only they could alleviate his suffering, but his accursed dark powers wouldn't allow death to come in such a trivial fashion. These robots could not end his torment-they were little more than an unwanted inconvenience.

Mcclay twisted his hand in their direction, just as the last combat bot had come stomping into view. Stone swallowed metal, warping and corrupting their original design as one by one, each of Father Karras's children were forcibly petrified. But the genius perfections of a mechanist device do not buckle so easily. Their internal gears ground and clanked, forcing their now overweight ligaments forward. The Keeper continued his procession, deflecting any cannonballs fired, as each combat bot before him gradually crumbled to dust. Victimized by their own rhythmic cores.

After what seemed like hours, Keeper Mcclay succeeded in reaching his final destination. He clambered to the top of an ambitious sandstone tower-once the holding place for the Talisman of Fire. There, the sentinel stood, solemn in his intent to never leave that place. At least, until his decision had been reached.  
Two options now sat before the man: Remain imprisoned within this lost civilization where none could ever feel the consequences of his unbalanced spirit. Or turn himself over to the Hammerite who held the key to his rightful annihilation.


	90. Chapter 90

Nothing ever lasts. Be it the happiness of a perfect day, or the waning romance between two mortal souls. Our existences are as fleeting as the dying leaves of autumn, as indecisive as the churning tide.

Both happiness and security had been ripped away from Keeper Mcclay's charges on that fateful dawn, and none knew exactly how to react to his sudden departure.  
Deep within the bowels of his gloomy fortress, Sandris held Tobias as the young man wailed and cried like a child. Perhaps, in many respects, he was still just that. Whatever the case, one thing was now perpetually clear to the liberated stalker of the misty night: He was her brother, always. And she would not fail him, the way his master had.

The way _her _master, had.

"He's gone Sandris," Tobias whimpered, the light within his eyes fizzing out like dying coals.

"I know," she whispered, hugging him tighter as he leaned into her.

"D-did he tell you where he was going?"

"No," her answer was as blunt as she was betrayed. Her two-toned blue eyes were cold and emotionless, as she stared blankly at the dirt wall in front of her. "But none of that matters now."

Tobias steadied himself, and gawked up at her.

"H-how could you say that?!" Tobias shrieked in a tone which was a weak imitation of rage at best. "Keeper Mcclay is our master! Our teacher!"

Sandris went quiet, watching as a rat scurried fearlessly into the lamplight. It's tiny ruby eyes met hers.

"Not anymore."

"B-but then," Tobias was whimpering again. "What are we going to-"

"Shhh," the ex-Enforcer crooned in a soothing manner Tobias wasn't entirely expecting. "We have each other. We have Derick, and Ayeena and Nellarose. And Gwenevere. So long as we all band together, everything will work itself out in the end. That's what Keeper Mcclay would want."

"Yes, you are right," she felt Tobias' head nod from under her firm arm. Then she heard him snort up some of his tears, wiping the rest away with his sleeve. "He always used to tell me that balanced unity was part of what made the Keepers so strong."

Sandris didn't respond this time. To be blunt, she wasn't sure she even believed her own words of wisdom. Of comfort. Frankly, the idea of being free terrified her. Freedom meant finding something to covet. To strive for. Throughout the better portion of her young life, the only aspiration driving her, was to please and protect Keeper Mcclay.

And now, he was gone.

Across the smoky topography of industry and progress, just on the outskirts of both city and forest, sat the recovering Grower Compound. And it was here, wherein Keeper Mcclay's daughters found themselves grieving over a very personal loss. An unforgivable act of abandonment.

It was a cowardly, selfish sort of betrayal, the effects of which were not lost on either of the two young women. Nellarose had been neither suspicious nor broken when the robed elder first declared himself her father. After all, she could barely recall those first carefree days beneath the wizened bough of the sycamore trees, feeling as the sun kissed her cherubic face. In her eyes-anyone could be that man. But after Ayeena had recognized Mcclay, and outright _declared _him as such...yes. That, was when it became fact.

In her youthful naivety and naturally affectionate disposition, the idea of holding a grudge against Keeper Mcclay hadn't even crossed Nellarose's thoughts. She had accepted his sudden return, his unending love. She listened to his tales of an older, simpler time. Tales of the now-vanished wood nymphs, and the ancient gods themselves. She listened, hanging onto his every word, as if through his lips, flowed the universal message of truth. And it was that beautiful gift of unbiased, unconditional acceptance, which now caused her heart to splinter in half.

Because this time, Nellarose did not have the blessing of a hazy recollection. This time, it was quite clear. Her father, had outright abandoned her.

Ayeena was worse off, by far. When that sneaksie old weasel had first revealed himself for what he truly was, she'd wanted nothing more than to slit his lying throat. His talk of regret, of missing his children-frankly, it sickened her. The war was over, and the earth had long since reclaimed what was rightfully hers. There was no sense in staying away for so many years. The Mechanists, were vanquished.

So why had he?

Through perhaps a somewhat desperate attempt to grant her younger sibling that which Ayeena could never accept, she had welcomed Mcclay back into their midsts. An action which she now viciously rued. Because now, due to that desire to give Nellarose a family-a more complete existence-Ayeena had introduced her sister to the same agony she'd been made to endure so many years ago.

That, was what hurt her most of all...

The Hammerite took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and brought his fist down upon the front door of the rudimentary little shack. The wind chime above the doorway rang with welcoming, yet eerie bells. A perfect compliment to the wind rustling through the haunting forest overhead. He rubbed his frigid hands together, his coif dripping with rain. From inside that humble little domain, Derick could hear scuffling. Sobbing.

"Who is it?" Nellarose's voice resonated from behind the locked door. Derick straightened his posture, and managed to speak.

"Greetings, Nellarose. It is I, Derick Garrision."

There was nothing but silence for what seemed like days, until finally, the door opened with a creak. The Grower teen appeared in the doorway, her face one of detached emotion, and radiating unease.

"Now's probably not the best time, Mister Garrision," she smiled sadly.

"Please, young lady. I need to speak with your older sister at once," the Hammer's face was solemn and forlorn in the moonlight.

Before Nellarose could respond, Ayeena peered out from behind her. The Pagan's hazel eyes were surging with visceral hatred, and an intense agony.

"What bes YOU wanters?!" She hissed. Derick involuntarily jerked backwards.

"Sandris and Tobias informed me of Mcclay's departure," he began. "I grew concerned over just how you and your sister were coping with this tragedy," he offered solemnly, genuine concern in his voice.

"We bes fine," Ayeena hissed, and proceeded to slam the door on him. The adamant man released a deep sigh, and merely knocked again.

"WHAT?!" Ayeena growled from behind the locked door.

"Ayeena! Please talk to me!" Derick hollered. Then, in a much softer tone, "please trust me..."

The door swung open again, catching the Hammerite upside the face. Derick groaned as he grabbed for his stinging cheek. Ayeena's amber eyes blazed wild from within, penetrating the shadows of her home.

"Trusters YOU?!" She hissed. "Bes you thinkers me a fool like you?! I bes, never trusters a Hammerhead!"

With that, she attempted to slam the door again...

**_THUMP!_**

Derick's metal boot kicked into the slot between the doorframe, preventing Ayeena from succeeding. The Pagan looked up at him and scowled.

"Bes movers your hammerheaded foot, or I bes breakers it!" she snarled.

"I don't think so," Derick smirked. "These boots are reinforced with Hammerite steel."

The Pagan girl's eyes went wide with rage. Starting to pant, she advanced upon him and pushed. Derick yelled as he felt his legs slip out from under him upon the grimy mud. Ayeena stepped outside, and leered down at him. Her messy blonde hair was feathered out and damp, concealing her newly shed tears with the muggy summer rain. She looked positively crazed, as she leered down at the valiant warrior with unbridled frenzy.

"Even bes you not a Hammerhead...even bes you someones I bes trusters...you bes _never _able to understanders my pain..." she hissed and turned away, as the powerful emotions overtook her.

Shakily, Derick got to his feet and approached her. The stout man stood there in the rain for several minutes more, watching her sob. Wishing there was something he could do to help her. As the skies overhead sparked to life with vibrant lightning, the Hammerite's lips drew inward one pensive, reluctant breath. His eyes flashed, and he spoke the words which would forever bridge the gap between such star-crossed hearts.

"Ayeena. I DO know how you feel!" he bellowed. The Pagan girl bared her fangs, and a clap of thunder intermingled with the deep growl budding within her throat.

"What bes yous talkers about?!" She snarled.

"I too, was abandoned by a parent. Both of them," the bold man admitted, the hazy recollections of his first days within the order finding him with a forceful passion.

Ayeena's expression did not wither, nor did her imposing stance falter. She simply looked ahead at the hulking beast of a foe before her. A metal-wielding beast, who for some inexplicable reason, continuously tried to worm his way closer to her. To the natural world, which his kind had continuously desecrated since the beginning of time.

"Bes true?" She asked, with obvious doubt interwoven betwixt her words.

"Tis true. I was abandoned to the Hammerite Order as a babe, left to freeze upon the doorsteps of the cathedral," Derick admitted with a tremor in his throat. "I never even met my parents. In that regard-and surely many more-life has indeed been kinder to thee, Ayeena..."

The Pagan frowned. Who was _he_, to try and tell her what she was experiencing? How the world received her? These were not his observations to make. Derick, barely knew her. How could he feel at all content enough to speak of that which even Ayeena's own sister remained blind to?!

"How dares you?!" She seethed, sneering at his gentle expression.

If looks could kill, the vile fury reflecting within her eyes alone would have been more than enough to slay the Hammer on that night.

"Ayeena, please understand!" Derick began. "My words come from a place of kindness, rather than knowledge. I claim not to be a wise man, but I do care about you," he decreed. Ayeena felt her blood begin to freeze.

"You bes keepers sayers that! Why? We bes commers from two different worlds! You speakers of kindness, of understanders! You bes sayers that life bes kinders to me?! At least, you bes never bes raided by Pagans-cripplings by thems!" She shrieked. Derick ground his teeth.

"Ayeena! How long do you intend to hold me responsible for the sins of my brothers?!" He demanded, having endured enough of this woman's near-constant prejudice.

He watched as her eyes widened, her lip quivering as her mind struggled to think up a biting retort. He would not allow it.

"I have been actively helping your people, Ayeena! I made you those legs upon which you now stand, even as you continue to douse me in your acidic remarks," lightning lit up the night, and the Pagan woman caught the determined look of chivalry radiating from the Hammerite's expression. "Tell me now, Ayeena-when will you accept that I am different? When will you trust me?!"

Ayeena gave him nothing, her expression growing albeit more bewildered and uncertain. But she did not speak. Derick tried again.

"Ayeena!" he opened his arms to her, silently begging for a forgiveness she refused to grant.

"Why bes you never givers up?!" She finally cried. Derick's expression remained stoic, even as another flash of electricity lit up the skies.

"Because, I fear that I do not know how," he replied with a small smirk. "Call it my fatal flaw. Even after all I have witnessed Father Volkorn do, I refuse to denounce The Builder. I refuse to give up my faith due to the acts of a deceivingly pious murderer."

Like a wild beast to a beckoning hand laced with food, Ayeena took a cautious step towards him.

"Bes I supposers to bes surprised that you bes a stubborn cityfool?" She crossed her arms.

"If I may be so bold, m'lady," Derick began. "You're pretty stubborn yourself."

Ayeena smiled, for the first time in days.

"I supposers that bes true..."

"Mayhaps just a tad," the Hammer grinned.

Ayeena released a deep sigh, and sauntered down the dirt-lined path towards her uninvited house guest. A booming rumble from overhead reverberated throughout her body, as she chanced ever closer to Derick.

To Ayeena, it felt like in that moment, The Trickster himself was snarling at her. Warning her away from this destructive demon cloaked in blood. But she did not obey.  
Upon reaching the Hammerite, Ayeena opened her mouth, allowing all of that untouchable pain and resentment to flow forth. But her words were softer now, more concentrated. And they were not directed at Derick this time.

"When he bes first reappearsies in my life, I bes more angers than anything," she muttered in a sullen voice. "But I bes thinkers of Nellarose. She bes never rememberings her father. I bes guessers that...I bes just wanters to doers right by hers. Wanters my sister to bes knowers a father..."

"Which is why you never asked Mcclay anything that might have made him nervous," Garrision concluded with a nod. Ayeena nodded back.

"If I bes demandings of hims where he goers, whysie he never bes searchers for us, I feared he would runners away..." the Pagan girl buried her face into her hands, trying to hide her tears from the burly man situated beside her. "But he bes runners anyway..."

With a brave stride forward, and an even braver chance, Derick placed his arm around her heaving shoulders. By the Builder's blessing, Ayeena did not bolt upright and snap one of his fingers off. Instead, she remained complacent, perhaps even a bit consoled by his strong grasp.

"It bereaves my spirit to hear that you have been through this abandonment twice now. Ayeena...I can not even imagine..."

"My father bes-"

"-Ayeena. I have seen the glint of affection within that old man's eyes. I watched his expression grow hopeless and shattered as he tended to your destroyed legs. Whatever the reason for these disappearances, these cold moments of apathy, one fact remains unchallenged within min eyes. Your father, does indeed love you, Ayeena..."

The Pagan girl looked up at him.

"You bes tryers to comforts me," she pointed out. "Bes not havers to, Derick. I bes understand..."

The Hammerite felt breathless, upon hearing her call him by name for the very first time. Not, 'filthy Hammer' , or 'Hammerhead'. Derick.

"Ayeena, you are loved. I don't think you need me, or Keeper Mcclay, or anyone else to explain that, yes?"

The Pagan girl smiled up at him, the pain left unshed within her honey-colored eyes. But at least she was feeling something besides that relinquished agony now. Yes, she indeed knew she was loved. Cherished. Valued in a way that was difficult to describe.

But did he?

"Derick, I bes do," she whispered, feeling as he wiped a stray tear from her left cheek with his thumb.

The rain continued to pelt against the rooftop, Nellarose silent within. Ayeena almost wondered if she had fallen asleep to the soothing rumbles and marbly clatters. The savage blonde closed her eyes, letting her guard down for the very first time before her sworn enemy. The Hammerite, did the same.

When their lips first met, there was tension. Fire devouring the supple bark of an aspen, vines and stinging nettles ensnaring raw flesh. Afterwards, there was a surreal calmness. Eerie, yet perfect. Tragic and horrible, like the remnants of a long forsaken battlefield. Forbidden and exciting, like exploring a sacred temple after dark. But it was real, and it was beautiful.  
Ayeena was the first to break away, her eyes dazzling against the backdrop of trees and leaden heavens. Derick took a moment longer to recover, and even then his feet felt two inches above the earth. This had been his first kiss, after all. Words caught somewhere between his throbbing Adam's Apple and tongue, creating a hushed mutter in place of anything truly romantic when the flustered man tried to speak. So the Pagan, spoke for him.

But her words, were not at all what he had hoped.

"I bes havers to go..." she mumbled.

This seemed to forcefully prompt the Hammer's voice back into working order.

"What? Ayeena!?" He called after her, reaching out to her as the tribal beauty he adored fled off into the thicket like a frightened deer.

Thunder rumbled again from overhead, and Derick Garrision, felt his heart shatter like unworthy stone. Perhaps in all too many ways, it had become as such.

**HAMMERITE CATHEDRAL:**

Father Volkorn clenched the torn scrap of parchment between his skeletal hands, his wrinkled face scowling down at the thing as if it were mocking him. In many respects, it was. But in so many more, the writing before his eyes, was so much worse than that.

It was the letter his estranged second had nailed unto the cathedral door. Slandering those ancient archways with these profane ideologies of his. Talk of acceptance, and learning from the rest of The City. What mad fever had that demented little witch put him under?!

But all of that mattered very little now-Derick Garrision had apparently chosen his side. His damnation.

"High Priest, Father Volkorn!" a brazen Hammerite marched through the doorway. He saluted the feeble old priest in a respectful manner. "Trenton Alexius, at your service!"

Volkorn turned around in his seat, his eyes blazing like two infernal coals. A venomous smile wove its way across his lips. On spindly legs, the High Priest approached.

"So you are the man who is to take the position of my second. Back from the crusades, I presume?" he inquired, beginning to circle his follower with deliberate, and concentrated steps.

"Indeed, father," the Hammer continued to salute, careful so as not to meet the gaze of the scrutinizing cleric. "I have been a devout servant of the Hammer since I was but in swaddling clothes."

"As I am well aware," Volkorn's grin expanded, revealing a row of sinister ivory teeth. "Your victory tales against the Eastern heretics precede you, young man. I expect nothing but the best from you."

"And I shall strive to deliver only the fiercest justice unto these befouled vermin who have slandered The Builder!" Trenton proclaimed, lowering his hand.

There was such determination within his breath, his posture. It reminded the High Priest of another-of a man who had all too recently fallen for Pagan witchcraft.

"You know," Father Volkorn proceeded nonchalantly, halting his pace beneath the averted gaze of his newest devotee, "my last second proved to be quite the disappointment."

"My apologies," the Hammerite grunted. Father Volkorn tugged at his red satin sleeves, admiring the material of his new vestments.

"He was too soft. Like gold. Not like wrought iron, or good, tempered steel," he explained, despite the man before him requiring no such account. "The City has fallen into chaos in your absence, you see. It will take nothing less than the strongest of materials and ambitions to put things right again."

Trenton Alexius finally met the maddened eyes of the High Priest, his bold face riddled with utter confusion. The holy man's expression had contorted into a truly horrible grimace.

"Whatever doust thou speak of, father?" he asked. Father Volkorn turned his back on the man, and sauntered over to the set of stained glass windows which backlit his desk. The sun had died hours prior, the alabaster glory of the moon shimmering down across an underserving world.

"The Pagans, and this new blasphemous order, the Growers. They have gained a substantial rise in power over the last year. Namely due to the last unholy member of their wicked trinity being unveiled," the priest detailed. His new second, stepped forward.

"Elaborate," he encouraged, now eager to learn just what manner of vile corruption he was now up against. Father Volkorn glowered over his shoulder at the bothered warrior.

"My dear sir Alexius, I do not wish to frighten you. But the fabled Last Mother, is no longer an abomination of whimsy and fairy tale. She has shown herself to be amoungst the populous as we speak. Furthermore, and most unsettling-they both accept, and adore her."

Trenton Alexius gaped in disgust, his brows furrowing. It didn't seem at all possible-not a word of it. But if these last three years of grueling crusades had taught the Hammerite anything, it was that those who did not understand or accept The Builder's will, were foolish and gullible indeed.

"I didst not spend the last three years of min life ankle-deep in the blood of sinners to come home to this!" he shouted. Father Volkorn's toothy grin, widened. His eyes began to narrow, like those of a hideous, ravenous predator. A true monster, which made even that paltry wood beast pale in comparison.

"That's what I was hoping you'd say, my son," he raised out his hand, and the High Priest's new second bent on one knee to graciously accept the father's blessing. Once Volkorn was finished, he cupped the seasoned zealot's shoulder, and looked him dead in the eyes. "Come. We have work to do."

He crumpled Derick Garrison's note, and tossed it into his fireplace. The enlightenment and hope which the rogue Hammerite had tried so diligently to share with his brethren, was reduced to little more than stagnant black ash.

The crowd below him in the cathedral courtyard sparkled and ungulated like a sea or crimson and silver. Righteous metal and fire, coming together as one-waiting to be fused into a greater tool. And that, was exactly what Father Volkorn, was about to do. From the lofty steel balcony where he stood, the High Priest extended a robed arm to his sea of followers. Cheers and bellows erupted from below, like a tectonic rumble.

"Min fellows, min sons and loyal brethren-at-arms! I hath summoned each of thou, to quell thy weeds which provoke me in min hour of need!" the elder made sure to address his followers in his holiest tongue. "Harken closer, Hammerites-and listen to min tale of woeful transgressions!"

And harken, they all did.

"I understand that many of thou hath only just returned from thy holy crusades. Normally, thy would wish to meditate, and to rest. Thou work hath been no doubt taxing-ridding our lord's world of sinners and demons always is. However, I implore thou all to learn of the true demon. She, who has poisoned our fair city in thine absence!"

Hundreds of murmurs and concerned questions rose up from the crowd, like the flames of a hungry forge.

"The abomination I speaketh of, is none other than the spawn of our worst enemy-the very ilk of The Trickster!" Volkorn's bloodshot eyes went wide, as he slammed his fist down onto the balcony. The murmurs from beneath him, erupted into roars.

"Yes, my fellow Hammerites! Yes!" the High Priest encouraged this madness. "She hath made herself known, not as a fable nor a beast-but rather, the cretin takes the form of an innocent maiden! She goes forth about our city, using the treachery of her toxic blood to fool good men and women-good servants of The Builder-into serving her unholy schemes instead! Most recently, she hath dragged away and corrupted one of our own! Brother Derick Garrision!"

"But Brother Garrision was not dragged away-he left," protested one man far below, "he left our order of his own volition father. Surly you remember-"

"-Our brother, Derick Garrision was _stolen _away by that rotten witch, and we must find him! His mind can only be reclaimed by our hands!" Turning to his new second, the High Priest released a telling sigh. "You have to suspect their foul influence everywhere-even in your own brother..."

"Then tell us, father-what must be done?" Clamored more voices from below, whilst Trenton Alexius was left to hopelessly ponder just what the robed cleric had meant by that ominous statement.

The High Priest's eyes blazed with hatred. A true enigma of insanity. He once again grinned his deranged smile, as he looked upon that sea of vigilance, and mislead muscle.

"The answer is simple, my sons! We must tear away the slag of love and devotion she has acquired from the ignorant fools of this place! Only then, will their eyes be made to see the true beast who lies beneath!"

"How doth we complete such a task?" Another Hammerite inquired, clearly befuddled by the order.

Only five words exited the cleric's maw, but they were so unsettling-so demented-that even the wind whistling through the nearby trees seemed to go quiet. Holding its breath in lieu of this impending bloodbath.

"We will _force _that sight..."


	91. Chapter 91

The simple tranquility of evening's bliss was shattered, as a loud banging found the door of Garrett's training house. Thief and nymph exchanged worried glances, before the former rose to his feet, and produced a six-inch dagger.

"Stay here," he motioned for the curious-eyed girl before him to abide to his request.

Gwenevere swallowed, managing a brief yet deceitful little smile. Garrett recognized this expression immediately: I promise I'll listen-for the next three seconds, that is...

"I mean it, Gwenevere. Stay," he growled. Gwenevere swallowed the tight lump in her throat.

"I'm not a dog, ya know?" she argued, crossing her arms with a pout.

"Nah. That would make things too easy," Garrett grumbled. "Then I could just bate you with some scraps."

"That _might _work, if they were chocolate," Gwenevere raised her finger, trying to sound helpful. But to her dismay, the thief recognized _this _brand of trickery as well.

"Not a chance. You know what sugar does to you," he groused. Gwenevere giggled.

"Hey! Can't blame me for tryin'!" The little nymph decreed, and the thief couldn't help but grin. Another bout of frantic knocking however, and Garrett's focus left her outright.

"Seriously Gwenevere. Stay here," he glowered into her, not a hint of pliancy left within his hardened gaze. The little nymph stifled a response, and began chewing her hair nervously.

"Kay..." She agreed with visible reluctance, and a mouthful of long red hair.

Upon edgy sinews, the moonlighter advanced upon the darkened doorway. The air around him felt heavy, threatening. Garrett had been in this situation far more times than he would have liked to admit, but it never got any easier. There was always that twinge of peril; the knowledge that death could be waiting for him on the other side of the door. He was about to peer out the peephole, when a shrill voice stung his eardrums.

"Woodsie one? Gwenevere? Bes you inners there?"

Garrett released a pent-up sigh, and sheathed his blade. He looked back over at his nymph, who was craning her head in anxious curiosity.

"Well? Who is it?" Gwenevere asked, kicking her legs two and fro.

"It's for you," the thief muttered, motioning towards the door. The nymph's eyes narrowed.

"Well, don't just leave them stranded out there in the _rain _Garrett!" She fumed, rising to her feet.

"Tch, would have suited me just fine," the thief grumbled under his breath coolly. Before Gwenevere could protest further, he opened the front door.

Ayeena was standing outside, her long straw-colored locks saturated by the balmy storm. Her long and feathered blonde hair was drenched, pasted down the sides of her face and body. She took one look at the wary cityfool before her, and ground her teeth.

"Where bes Gwenevere?" She demanded.

"And hello to you as well," Garrett sneered at her.

"Bes her here, or not?!" Ayeena continued, now trying to shove her way past the stoic criminal. But Garrett wasn't having any of that. He planted his arm against the inner doorframe, his brows furrowing with absolute scorn for the savage little beast before him.

"How the taff did you even know where we were?" He pressed her, sincerely beginning to fret over the discretion of his new abode. Garrett felt as Ayeena tried to worm her way past his arm, but she soon found the stringy extremity to be deceitfully strong.

"Ayeena?" Gwenevere called, appearing just behind her thief. Ayeena grew frenzied.

"Woodsie chid! You bes here!" She celebrated, feeling a rush of apprehension leave her form. She tried pushing her way past Garrett again. "Bes getters out of my ways, city!"

"Not so fast, Pagan," Garrett growled, his eyes sparking with danger. "You didn't answer my question. How the hell, did you find us?"

Though her eyes burned with volatile hate, Ayeena kept her composure. Reaching into her pouch, she withdrew a rather frightening object. A mummified hand, which the thief had silently hoped he'd never see the likes of again.

"Them Jacknall's Paw. It bes pointers me in thems goodsie direction," Ayeena replaced the relic.

Garrett took one look at that disturbing-supposedly 'sacred'-hunk of mutilation, and stepped out of the Pagan woman's path.

"Oookaaay...You can take it from here, Gwenevere," the moonlighter proclaimed, tugging his dark cloak free of the coat rack, and throwing it around his shoulders, "I'm going out."

"Alright! Bye-bye Garrett! See ya later!" The little nymph nodded and waved in jubilation, watching as the thief shook his head. Ayeena waited for the front door to slam closed, before she went to sit down upon a crude wooden bench.

"I bes forgetters that cityfool bes livers with yous..." the Pagan grumbled, squeezing the excess rain water from her wild mane.

"Oh yeah, I've been living with Garrett for over a year now. Ever since I ran away from Simmons, pretty much," Gwenevere nodded, her eyes closed in satisfaction. "Which was really good too, since before I met Basso and Garrett, I was sleeping beneath a bridge."

Ayeena just blinked, giving the giddy little creature an odd stare. Gwenevere flushed a bright pink, gabbing up Pilfur as the cat began to make circle eights around her ankles. It was about time to change the subject, so it would seem. That was probably for the best, with reactions like _that!_

"So, what's up?" Gwenevere asked, stroking her feline friend behind the ears. He mewed with satisfaction, and Gwenevere pointed at her best 'human' friend's pack. "You know, you really shouldn't disturb the Jacknall's Paw just in order to find me, Ayeena. It's a really dangerous, really precious artifact."

"I bes knowers, but..." Ayeena felt the blood rush away from her face.

"Did ya perform the ritual correctly at least?" The nymph craned her head discerningly.

"I bes deaded if I bes not, yeah?" Ayeean snapped, most unlike her. This immediately caused the nymph to realize that something was quite amiss with her dear friend. Gone was the untamed visage of a wild creature, leaving only a terrified, cornered girl in it's wake.

"Ayeena? Whatever is the matter?" Gwenevere comforted, now visibly concerned. The Pagan raised her head, and met the green and gold irises of her best friend.

"I bes kissers Derick..." Ayeena whispered. Gwenevere's eyes widened at the unexpected reveal. She set the cat down, and placed her hands up over her head.

"Wow!" She blushed again. "I mean, I wasn't expecting it, but that's so great! I'm so glad you two found each other!"

"I bes runners here afters..." Ayeena spoke quickly, diminishing her friend's joy.

"What?! But why Ayeena?" Gwenevere craned her head in absolute confusion. Ayeena stared up at her, through a false, broken smile, and guilty hazel eyes.

"Bes it not clearsie?" She inquired in a low voice.

"Well, no. Not really..."

Ayeena slammed her fists down hard against the bench, her emotions flaring. She looked the estranged little woodland dancer dead in the eyes.

"I bes kissers a Hammerhead, Gwenevere. A HAMMERHEAD! What bes wrongers withs me?!" The Pagan shrieked, trying to evaporate her impending tears with burning rage.

"I don't think anything is _wrong_ with you, Ayeena," Gwenevere offered. "I think that's just how it happens sometimes."

"But what bes happenings, exacters?"

"Well, you must have kissed him because you felt something in your heart, right?" Gwenevere stared at the ceiling, placing her index finger against her chin. "Or, was it in your trousers?"

"I...bes not wearers thems city garments," Ayeena blinked, clearly confused by these words.

"Oh, I know," the nymph began to giggle. "That was only a joke. I heard Basso say that to someone at the Crippled Burrick once, and Garrett said it was a joke. Sophie was there too, and SHE said Basso was just being a crass idiot. So then GARRETT-"

"-Woodsie one?"

"Oh! Right! I'm so sorry, Ayeena..." Gwenevere blushed for a third time, feeling very awkward for the first time in quite a while. "So, you kissed Derick, and now you feel weird about it? Is that what I'm hearing?"

"Bes about rights..." Ayeena murmured, placing the fingers of her right hand over her drenched forehead.

"But how come?"

"Because, I bes not knowers WHY I kissers him! I bes loosers myself, Gwenevere! What bes happenings to me?!" Ayeena was hyperventilating now. Those tears she'd been fighting all night to keep hidden, now ran from her eyes like an untamed river. Before she realized it, the Pagan had buried her sobbing features within her quaking palms.

So much had been robbed from that girl over the duration of her harrowing lifetime. Ayeena, had always been strong however. No older than six, she'd managed to carry, feed, and raise her infant sister alone within the unforgiving forest for weeks; until eventually being rescued and taken in by the founder of the Growers.

As tenacious as a feral beast, her people always said. Perhaps even her mother had believed this. After all, her name literally translated to, 'Vivacious Hyena'. But during the events of this solitary year, Ayeena felt as domestic and weak as a cityfool's dog. Almost as though she'd been tamed of that beautiful majesty which the others had always admired. She had lost so much more that could never be returned. Letting herself be kissed be the enemy had, in her mind, cemented these fears. Though some part of Ayeena did in fact realize, that Derick Garrision was no longer anything like his brethren. Perhaps, he never had been.

Gwenevere took a seat beside her ailing friend. She wrapped her arm around Ayeena, and squeezed her close; just as she had done back when they were both but carefree children.

"Ya know, when I first realized that I was feeling things for Garrett, I was overwhelmed with all sorts of emotions. But most of all, I was scared."

Ayeena's head rose from her palms at this. She gave the woodsie princess a strange look.

"Afraiders? But why? You bes a nymphie-bes lovers manfools commers easy fors you, yes?"

"Well, no," Gwenevere blushed, looking down at her knees. "I-I wasn't raised like that, remember? My mother wasn't there to teach me how to act in such situations, and I usually found acts of love to be very...jarring..."

The young woman's blush spread wide across her heart-shaped face, intensifying in hue. She still remembered the House of Blossoms-all too well. She remembered seeing a maid and servant boy expressing their passions behind a long velvety curtain once when she was quite small, and the unholy cacophony of Lord Simmons 'entertaining' his many mistresses, still haunted her nightmares.

"Bes not knowers of lovemaking? Of passion?" Ayeena's expression continued to betray her utmost shock and confusion.

"Well, I mean, I still got the urges, yes," Gwenevere giggled like a drunken harlot. "I was the one to kiss_ him_, after all..."

"Bes this Garrett...bes he?" Ayeena toyed with her question, testing the flavor within her mouth. She wasn't entirely sure she wanted to ask it.

"What? Was Garrett what?" Gwenevere blinked.

"Never minds..." the Pagan grumbled. At any rate, it was none of her business.

"My point is, Ayeena," the little nymph trilled, "even though it's strange and scary sometimes, love isn't something you should be afraid of."

"But he's a Hammerhead!"

"So? Mine's a criminal!" Gwenevere laughed again. Then, her eyes grew soft and warm, dazzling like the sweetest Spring day. "None of that should be a factor, Ayeena. Derick loves you, and you love him. Don't you want to try and see where that leads?"

"I bes..." the Pagan grumbled, grinding her teeth in frustration, and anxiety. "I bes not like you, Gwenevere..."

"Whadda ya mean?" the nymph cocked her head. Ayeena met her gaze, immeasurable anguish written within that wild, honey-colored stare.

"We bes both loosers so much. But you bes never loosers your innocence, woodsie child. You bes never givers up. I bes did."

"Only for a little while though," Gwenevere comforted. "You were crippled, Ayeena. I think depression and surrender were both realistic reactions to that."

"If it bes not for you...for Derick..." she drew in a cool breath, then immediatly began to shudder with pain," father...If not bes for thems helpers in my life, I woulders bes never leavers that bed. I bes not nearers as strong as you, Gwenevere."

This statement surprised Gwenevere. For as long as she'd known her, Gwenevere had always equated her best friend Ayeena with strength and finesse. She was a warrior, a survivor. She embodied everything it meant to be a true Pagan, and the nymph admired her beyond words for that. To think that Ayeena thought Gwenevere to be stronger, was nothing short of preposterous.

"Ayeena...why would you even think that?" Gwenevere whispered. "I'm not nearly as strong as you are!"

"Bes a nymph, my frienders," Ayeena shot her a bemused grin. "How bes you figures otherwisers?"

"Yeah, I'm a nymph," Gwenevere pouted, heaving her little chest in anguish. "A domesticated one. I'm the first nymph to lose their magic. To love cityfools. Even my own father disowned me..."

"What bes you mean?" Ayeena inquired. Gwenevere gave her an unsettled look.

"I have these nightmares occasionally. I think they're from him. It's how we communicate, now that he's no longer of this world..."

"And Trickster bes told you, what exacters?" Ayeena gingerly brushed some of her best friend's red bangs away in order to see her face. Gwenevere's green eyes were laced with deep unrest. She had never told anyone of her nightmares. Not even Garrett.

"He tells me that I'm no longer one of his. He tells me that my life has less value than any other creatures," she admitted in a shaking voice. "Even Hammerites. Even...even Mechanists..." Ayeena frowned.

A difficult choice now lay before her. These were the declarations of her god, according to his chosen spawn. If that god had truthfully denounced Gwenevere, then the choice was clear-for most. But that spawn he so despised, was also the Pagan woman's greatest friend. And Ayeena, did not see such betrayal within Gwenevere.

"Gwenevere...Trickster bes wrongers abouts you..."

"W-what?!" Gwenevere gaped, shooting up so fast that she nearly caused Ayeena's fingers to poke her in the eye. "Ayeena! You mustn't say such things!"

"Whysie not? You bes my bestie frienders, Woodsie Child, and yes-you bes goodsie. If Trickster bes not seers that, then Trickster bes blinders..."

Gwenevere smiled, hoping to conceal the cold terror now circulating her system upon Ayeena's declaration. Yes, perhaps her father had been blind once. Perhaps that was indeed why he had called upon that odious relic, and stolen her thief's eye. Her mother's guttural praises burned through her eardrums, as Gwenevere tried her best to forget the terrors of that horrible evening.  
_  
So that his Eye of Stone may see!_

Shaking her head, Gwenevere sighed hard.

"Ayeena...I really do appreciate the sentiment behind your words...but," Pilfur interrupted her, leaping up into her lap with unmatched grace. Gwenevere smirked for only a moment, as she began to stroke his velvety black ears. "But I have defied my father. I have chosen my path, and it is directly opposed to that which he chose for me all those years ago."

Ayeena patted her best friend's exposed knee. Gwenevere looked up from her lap, and into the Pagan woman's smiling face.

"Bes proovers your worth...just now..." Ayeena's eyes glistened like spun gold. "And you bes proovers it for years before, Gwenevere..."

"What do you mean?" Gwenevere's expression grew tragic. Before she could begin to cry, Ayeena leaned forward and pulled the little nymph into a gentle embrace. Pilfur, remained exactly where he was, albeit a tad bit squished by the kindly gesture.

"Worthless creatures, bes not choosers thems own path. Hammerheads, Mechaheads...they bes followers a falsie god to thems demise. They bes likens thems herdsie beasts of thems cityheads. You, Woodsie child...you bes no tamesie sheep-you, bes a lone wolfer!"

_A lone wolf, eh?_ Gwenevere, silently smiled at the thought.

She knew someone else like that too. And he, had saved the world. Three times, to be precise. Perhaps being liberated from The Trickster's control and affection, wasn't so bad after all. She would loose her magic in time, but what she had gained in return, was something Gwenevere found so much more precious.

Freedom.

***

Mortified screams rang throughout the night, as powerful explosions and flashes of violent sabotage rocked The City. Father Volkorn stood on the highest balcony of the Hammerite Cathedral, overlooking the burning disaster through pensive eyes. If the people would not see reason, he would call upon the tools of the ancient days to _make_ them see.

Trenton Alexius, his new second in place of Derick Garrision, was leading the attack. From vantage points far above the city, every Hammerite loyal to the High Priest, now worked diligently to bomb it. Shratnel discreetly blended with leaves and vines would act as a perfect footprint for that putrid little angel these heretical citizens had chosen to worship so.

"I wonder what they will think of you, once they discover that you've brutally destroyed their city?" Volkorn grinned, his eyes glinting with madness.

He traced a wrinkled thumb over the edges of the Enforcer Mask his men had discovered. The High Priest knew a Keeper had to be assisting the girl. After all, how else could a revolting Pagan hide so diligently from the rest of the world? Their kind were aggressive, and clumsy. They did not turn into ghosts, nor recede into shadow. So why then, had Gwenevere been so successful in evading capture? Especially when she was responsible for such widespread actions across The City?

Trenton Alexius's words still reverberated throughout the stately cleric's turbulent mind, as he watched the mask shimmer in the moonlight:

_"Father, why doust thou wish to destroy our fair city?"_

_"Because this city has gone rancid. Our only objective now, is finding the Last Mother, and the man who has hidden her from me."_

_"Man? Of whom do you speak, father?"_

_"It is as I told you yesterday, Sir Alexius-I have come to expect betrayal everywhere. Even from a man I once called, brother."_

Father Volkorn's grip tightened around the unsettling little object. He had known Keeper Mcclay back in the day, and he knew all too well of the sentinel's tendency to take pity on the young and weak. He knew many things regarding the enigmatic scholar; for they had once been sworn blood brothers. But that was before the truth came. Before Volkorn felt the height of true betrayal, when he discovered Mcclay's status as a multi-agent. Far too late, Father Volkorn realized that their comradery was merely a trick to hide his involvement with those filthy Pagans. To allow that false Keeper to gather information for that loathsome temptress queen of theirs.

"You cannot hide forever, my old friend..." his grip around the mask tightened. "I am closing in on the both of you now. And once I find you..."

The High Priest's monologue was interrupted, as the double doors of his chamber were abruptly thrust open. Volkorn whirled around with a hiss, and saw Trenton Alexius, and two armed Hammerites lurking in the murky doorway.

"Ah, General Alexius..." Volkorn purred. "I trust that you have found my quarry?"

"Father Volkorn," Alexius gave a deep bow. "So far, there is nary a sign of the nymph or the strange robed man you described."

"Then why, pray tell..." Volkorn sneered through clenched teeth," are you here?!"

"Because, father," the Hammerite captain began, tugged his captive forward. "We did find this one, however. We believe it to be involved with the nymph in some way. Possibly the other suspect, as well."

Father Volkorn leered down at his captive, a man he'd previously had the pleasure of personally torturing down in the Inquisition chamber. Timothy Woksworth met the predatory eyes of the maddened High Priest, and began to shiver.

"Ahh, so the heretical Timothy Woksworth returns to me once again. Once a Pagan supporter, now a fool harbinger for the Last Mother herself. Why can't you heathens just let such inane purpose die?"

"I have no fear of you, wicked priest!" the blonde lad summoned his courage and spoke. "Gwenevere has been told of your horrible plans-you will never capture her!"

"You speak too soon, faithless whelp. Before the sun dies on the seventh day, your unholy demon mistress shalt burn against its glorious luster."

Before Timothy could react, Father Volkorn produced his staff and held it against the young man's cheek. The lad gulped, as the bejeweled tip began to gleam an infernal red.

"Now Timothy, my boy. In case you have forgotten it somewhere within the depths your weed-choked mind, I am indeed the High Priest of the Order of the Hammer. That being said, consider this: I know you were once a good, Builder-fearing lad. I, can still forgive you of your sins boy! Of your tryst with the spawn of the Trickster! All you must do to earn my blessing," Volkorn knelt down upon crackling knee, and whispered the following directly into Timothy Woksworth's ear canal, "is tell me, where she is..."

Woksworth jerked back, temporarily causing the cleric's sharp staff to cut against his face.

"Never!" The young man stated bravely, even as a sharp pain registered within his cheek, and the blood began to flow. The High Priest sneered.

"Such loyalty does the rotten demon embolden within her followers...very well. You shall be the first of the martyrs, and you shall suffer thoroughly for your sins!"

With that, Volkorn nodded to one of his men.

"Bring her in."

"Yes, father," the bulky Hammer bowed, and swiftly exited the chamber.

Upon his return, Lady Lilithia was with him. But it wasn't just her. Woksworth's eyes went wide with profound turmoil, as none other than Gwenevere Taffer entered abreast of his previous mistress. But what unnerved the young attorney most of all, was the fact that the One-Eyed Pirate Queen, appeared to be coming along of her own volition.

"G-Gwenevere?!" He struggled to get a better look at her face, tried to gauge just what the spontaneous rebel leader was thinking, coming freely to a place such as this.

Lady Lilithia glowered down at the attorney whom had deserted her. Betrayed her.

"Traitor..." She hissed, her eyes narrowing with apathy.

Woksworth offered nothing in response. In truth, he had barely heard the words as they exited her lips. His full attention, was still drawn to Gwenevere. The longer he stared at her, the deeper his mind was thrust into a sea of anxiety. Something, was very wrong.

It looked like Gwenevere. It even moved like Gwenevere, as she paced about the room with giddy, yet curious little steps. Woksworth couldn't be sure if it was her eyes, or something more subtle than that; but the nymph seemed peculiar that evening. Almost as if she was locked within some sort of stupor, unaware to the mortal danger she was now in.

"Gwenevere!" He hollered for her again, desperate to gain her attention. To snap her out of whatever trance now held her.

To his surprise, she looked directly at him. And once she did so, perhaps the most disturbing event followed. Father Volkorn and his men, released Woskworth from their confines. At first, the young man was noticeably surprised. But it didn't last. Stumbling in a rather clumsy display to his feet, the attorney ran to Gwenevere's side.

"Gwenevere! Gwenevere! Speak to me, m'lady! What have they done to you?!"

The nymph just continued to stare blankly into his concerned expression. Woksworth proceeded to shake her, to pull her from whatever domination now stifled her ability to speak. The moment he did so, Gwenevere, began to growl. It was a low, foreboding sort of sound. Immediately, the attorney stepped backwards. Right into Lady Lilithia's awaiting arms. With an inhuman strength, she administered a crushing headlock around the young man, delighting in his protests and jerky motions as he struggled to free himself.

But Timothy Woksworth ceased all attempts at freedom, when Gwenevere, began to melt away. He watched in abject horror, as her flesh darkened and contorted, listened as her bones snapped and her organs squished themselves into different positions within her silent frame. By the time he realized what was happening, there was little he could do, but scream.

"I suppose when thou are partial to the Trickster god, thy mind can be fooled quite effortlessly," Father Volkorn mocked, grinning madly as his men rushed from that place in blind terror. The double doors locked tight behind them, leaving only the High Priest, his subservient noble mistress, their captive, and a most horrendous thing left within that darkened room.  
Woksworth felt his bladder release, which in turn prompted Lady Lilithia to shove him forward in disgust. He fell to the feet of the nightmare.

"Filthy lower classes," the heiress muttered, checking her luxurious silken gown for any signs of wetness. Fortunately for her designer clothing, the offending urine remained strictly within the trousers of the frightened young man at her feet.

Woksworth lifted his head, and gawked up at that horrible abomination. His mind was actively fighting against what it was registering, for the atrocity just looked so very wrong. Perhaps it was those contracted white eyes, more human than beast in appearance. Or the mangled jaw containing three rows of mismatched teeth. Some were sharp and jagged, like those of a shark. But others were smooth and straight, like those of a man. Thick black fur hung down from the sides of it's large head like a horse's mane, and the body was large and muscular. The muzzle of the beast was elongated, and came to a blunt, noseless point. The entire creature was a wicked, tarry black. Woksworth could feel it's muggy breath on his face, as the monster glowered down at him. It almost appeared to be smirking at his misfortune.

"Even Simmons was terrified of my babies," Lady Lilithia spoke again. "That's why he'd never come with me to the summer home. Now, you're about to find out why..."

"I tried to grant you a simple death, lad," Volkorn shook his head in disappointment. "But I suppose it matters not. A villain will always be thus. This little example does indeed vanquish any of the preexisting doubts I had as well."

"W-whatever are you talking about?!" Woksworth managed to stammer out. The demon before him, began to growl again.

"If you were fooled by it's disguise. If you truthfully believed that it was your Gwenevere who had come through that door," Father Volkorn's face grew nothing short of malevolent, "than so too, shall they..."

Lady Lilithia snapped her fingers, and her beloved pet pounced. With vicious speed and agility, it caught the young man's body by the side, flipping him over as if Woksworth weighted little more than a ragdoll. Now on his back, the attorney gazed, wide-eyed and breathless into the face of the beast that now held him beneath it's gristly paws. It lapped it's slimy, elongated tongue madly about, dripping some putrid saliva onto it's prey's hopeless expression. Internally, Woksworth prayed that the creature would at least be merciful. That his end would be short, and painless.

It wasn't.


	92. Chapter 92

Rushing against the wind, eyes aglow with the freedom they now relished. Hungry for warm meat. Bits of the gristle which once bore the name, Timothy Woksworth laced between the gnarled fangs of their leader. The creatures halted on the precipice of that dismal, ill-prepared city.

The woods had grown ominously silent, the owls and wolves fleeing in fear as these unspeakable demons began to growl and gnash their teeth. The false tranquility of night was shattered, by the horrific sound of many bones breaking, skin tearing, and vocal cords shredding.

Only to reknit into a most delicate form. A trustworthy and innocent one. A form which would have no trouble getting close to the ilk of this metropolis, and tearing them all asunder. It was about to begin. The City streets, would very soon run with blood.

Basso awoke within the early hours of the morning to the sound of a ruckus. The old codger had been living conveniently within the tavern's basement for years, and the usual cacophony of drunken patrons, and barfights, had become little more than white noise to him by this point. These, were not the usual sounds of slurred insults, and demands for another shot. These, were the screams and hapless cries of doomed men, which chilled his blood, and prompted all weariness to depart.

Scrambling to his feet in a rather clumsy display, the boxman buttoned his trousers, threw on his coat, and bumbled his way up the stairway which led out into the city streets. He peered out of the small peephole he'd carved-a wise move, considering his line of work-and waited.

Not a soul was present upon those glistening black cobblestones, though the scent of trepidation hung fresh in the air like a noxious haze. Basso waited, his breath quickening, for any sign of life. For another scream.

He eventually saw two women running from what he could only imagine, was the direction of the corner store. Their faces were wild with panic and tears. One of the women looked behind her and shrieked, prompting the drunkard pauper's eyes to grow wide with mystified intrigue.

To his surprise, she pushed her companion to the ground without a moment's hesitation. The other lass began synonymously cursing, and begging not to be left behind. Basso leaned in closer to the door, until his bearded cheek was pressing against the aged wood.

"What the hell?" He whispered to himself.

From around the bend, he could hear a fluster of wingbeats and feathers. Defying his curiosity to see to his beloved pet, Basso stepped away from the door, and started back down the steps to check on Gloria.

The magpie, is quite the intelligent bird, capable of feeling complex emotions. Basso, bird fanatic that he was, was well-aware of this. And it was abundantly clear to him, that his cherished pet, was now terrified. She began to caw, still flapping her wings frantically. If he hadn't of clipped them himself, the boxman was positive that she would have taken flight right out the open window. After the tragic event with Jenivere, the boxman had decided that keeping his beauties grounded, was the best course of action-lest another law man decide to shoot down one of his little messengers. Basso approached his feathered friend, and scooped her up within his arms. Gloria calmed almost instantaneously, although he could still fell her quivering against his chest.

"There there, hon," he crooned. "I haven't the foggiest as to what the taff's goin' on out there, but I reckon it's pretty darn bad if it's got 'cha all spooked like this, Gloria."

Just as he began to stroke the soft feathers atop her head, a horrific scream lit up the night. This one, was closer than the others. Far worse. Basso jumped at the sound, and Gloria began to flail again. He enshrouded the flustered magpie within his arms, and began to gently shush her, still stroking her feathers.

"Hey. It's okay, girl," the boxman chanced a wary look out his window, "I'm scared too..."

Silence permeated the air for a time, as seconds slowly crawled into minutes. The night air reeked of death, and Basso was sure that the cry he'd just heard was that of the fallen lady. The poor lass, with a terrible taste in friends. But though the danger seemed to have passed by his door without incident, it was the unknown which haunted him the most.

"What the hell happened tonight, Gloria?"

The magpie was very still, illumination from a flickering oil lamp glinting off the corners of her small, glassy eyes. She nestled deeper against her owner's chest, and blinked.  
It would be another two weeks, before they discovered the cause of these horrifying cries in the night. But by then, it would already be far too late.

TWO WEEKS LATER:

"Basso! Git yer arse out here this instant!" Jeffery Davis, the upstairs barkeep, continued to shout as he pounded hard against the boxman's seedy little establishment.

After several minutes of this, and no doubt several stares and smirks from the patrons just above, the door to what had once been the tavern basement, swung open. Basso appeared, his beard scruffy and his eyes dreary.

"Jeffery, I'm paid up fer the week, as always," he mumbled with a yawn.

It was apparent to the bartender, that his 'tenant' of sorts, had just woken up. Sleeping off booze again, no doubt.

"I ain't here about that!" The balding older man snapped, his blue eyes livid. Basso's eyes narrowed as he stared befuddled at his landlord.

"Okay. Then what's this about, Jeffery? I ain't exactly much fer socializin' at the moment."

"I want ya out, that's what this is about!" The bartender snapped. Basso blinked.

"You serious?! I've been livin' down here for years, Jeff. Ya know I'm good for it!"

"It ain't about the money, Basso," Jeffery's frown intensified into a furious snarl. "It's about the company you keep..."

"Huh?" The boxman hiccupped. Then he started to chortle, waving his arms out in front of him. "Ahahahaha! Oh, if ya mean Marissa, she don't live with me! It's more of a, 'friends with benefits' situation, ya see? I mean, she wanted ta move in, but I told her that-"

"-Shut it, you bleedin' idiot!" The impatient barkeep boomed. "How taffin' stupid can a person be? I'ma kicken' ya out, because yer friends with that...that...Pagan witch is what she is!"

"Huh? Pagan witch...ya mean..." Basso's round eyes went even wider, creating an almost comical look upon his face. His jaw grew agape, as the barkeep's words began to register within his alchohol-infested mind.

Naw...he couldn't know about Gwennie's little exploits around town. And even if he did, why the heck would he care? The gal's been helpin' the poor-an' no doubt his business as well!

"Look, Basso. I know I made a promise to that sister of yours, but that was darn near four years ago! Circumstances, they be different now, see? I can't have the friends of monstrous butchers living under the feet of my patrons. Bad for business, ya see?"

"Monstrous butcher?!"

The very idea nearly caused the boxman to burst with laughter. Indeed, he did remember some of Garrett's stories about nymphs-about Gwenevere-with utmost, unsettling clarity. But the ruby-haired nymph had reserved her brutal tenacity for only those putrid souls who richly deserved to meet with death. And from everything the thief had mentioned as of late, Gwenevere hadn't killed anyone in almost a year.

"Don'tcha know how ta read, Basso?!" Jeffery shouted, pointing towards the street. "Right there, just shy of my tavern. One of my barwenches was torn apart by that 'friend' of yers! Took the watch nearly two days to scrape what was left of her from the cobbles and the neighboring building, it did. I lost a good deal of business that week, too!"

Basso felt absolutely sick. The woman he'd seen pushed down into the road two weeks prior. The ear-bleeding screams that followed her terrible betrayal. He could never forget that feeling of fear-or helplessness-as he huddled in the corner of his hovel, comforting his magpie. Bravely, the retired safecracker glowered up the stairs at his landlord.

"Why do you think Gwennie's behind this? I mean, have ya even MET the gal Jeffery?!"

"Yeah, I've seen her around. Last time she was in my tavern, she ducked out on her bill, and ran off with some hooded goon! Not the best impression, I'd say!"

Garrett, you taffer... Basso rubbed his forehead. It hadn't been Gwenevere's idea to dine and dash that evening, but the naïve creature had certainly made a poor choice in whom she shared her meals with.

"Look, Jeffery. I know the kid's made some bad choices here and there. But trust me when I say, that she'd never kill anyone!"

He intentionally chose to tell a half truth. Jeffery Davis did not need to know of the true fate of the Thief-Taker General, nor was it any of his business.

"Basso. I saw her with me own two eyes, I did!" The barkeep whispered under his breath. Basso went pale in the face, and his entire body felt numb.

"Naw, it couldn't have been her!" He defended, crossing his arms. "You're sure it wasn't some other cute lil' redheaded lass?"

"Why don't you ask that sister of yours. She was right there with me, when it happened..."

The bartender's latest statement, caused the hair on the back of the boxman's neck to stiffen. Something reminiscent of curiosity, laced with black dread began to take hold between the folds of his mind.

"Sophie?! She saw Gwenevere do that?!" He gulped, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

A look of defeat and confusion littered his disheveled features. Jeffery reached out, and patted his tenant on the shoulder.

"I'm awfully sorry, mate. But my business comes first. Get yer shit out by morning, yeah?"

"What about Sophie? You givin' her the boot too?" Basso asked, quite disgruntled.

"Haven't decided yet," the barkeep crossed his arms. "That sister of yours at least contributes to my establishment. You just linger beneath the floorboards."

"Hey! I pay my rent, I drink yer ale! I hardly see that as a bad thing, Jeffery!" Basso defended.

"Look, mate. Me mind's made up," the balding man pointed directly at his irate tenant. "You want yer hovel back? Then yer gonna have to prove to me, that yer Pagan savage of a crony is innocent. But after what I've seen, Basso, I doubt there's a Hammer's chance in hell that you'll be able to clear that thing's name..."

Basso didn't offer up any sort or a reaction this time. Only one thought consumed his mind now. He had to visit his sibling, and find out just what had happened. If Gwenevere-impossible as it seemed-was going feral, he had an obligation to keep his little sister safe. Jeffery murmured something as he made his way back towards the Crippled Burrick, leaving Basso to gather up his things-and his thoughts.

"Sodding taffer..." the bearded lowlife spat, shaking his head and descending down the stone steps.

He scraped together all of his most important documents and incriminating records first, followed by his personal items, and a spare change of clothes. Throwing a rustic-looking suitcase atop his ratty mattress, Basso proceeded to pack. Gloria cawed from her perch, and he looked over his shoulder and smiled at her.

"Looks like we're on the open road, girl. Here's to adventure, eh?"

The magpie fluttered, clearly aware of her owner's negative emotions. Basso chuckled, picking up his packed suitcase from the bed and facing his concerned little pet. He whistled, and extended his index finger to her perch. Gloria hopped onto his digit, cocking her head as she made eye contact with the boxman.

"Come on, sweetheart. We'd better be goin'..." He sighed.

Basso exited the hovel, not even bothering to lock up. Taking a good look at the place he'd called home for over four years, the middle-aged pauper released another deep sigh, and shook his head.

With that, his loyal magpie perched atop his shoulder, Basso the Boxman left the Crippled Burrick.

He'd gone maybe about ten feet, when the consequences of his late-night's drink finally caught up with him.

"Christ..." He groaned, looking back and forth as he undid the topmost button of his trousers. "It always hits ya when ya least expect it..."

As he proceeded to relieve himself against the side of the tavern-something which indeed felt very cathartic-a low clicking sound found his ears. Basso concluded his business, and listened. Another click came within a few seconds, this one louder than before. The boxman's eyes narrowed.

"Hello? Who's there?" He demanded to the threatening blackness behind him.

Save for the luster of one, sickly yellow streetlamp, the rest of the street seemed to have gone completely dark. Odd indeed, for this bustling part of town.

"Hello?" Basso called again. He felt Gloria begin to fidget atop his shoulder. The magpie, was clearly growing upset.

As his eyes began to adjust to the murky abyss, the figure of a short, red-haired girl became distinguishable.

She was wearing a feathered cap, a ponytail, and a tight green ensemble. A navy cape fluttered elegantly down her back, taken up and toyed with by the balmy midnight breeze.

No doubt about it. That, was Gwenevere.

Even after everything Jeffery Davis had just explained, Basso still found himself skeptical. He'd known Gwenevere for the better part of a year now, and that girl had never-nymph or no-acted savage towards the people she loved.

"Hey, Gwen!" He called after her.

The girl appeared hunched over, her form stiff and calculated, as if she were concentrating upon something unseen. But upon hearing his call, she stood, and slowly turned around.

What Basso saw next, nearly caused him to relieve himself once more.

A pair of eyes twinkled as they surveyed him, a stark white smile spreading wide across the contrasting darkness. Whatever he had been staring at, then extended its left arm upright in a lethargic, almost mocking manner. All Basso could see, was a deformed hand sprouting long, viciously sharp fingernails.

Thunder rumbled overhead, as sparse moonlight glinted downward throughout the alleyway. It glistened off the fresh crimson blood dripping from those fearsome talons.

Breath caught in the boxman's throat. Although the creature looked like Gwenevere, and even moved like Gwenevere, he knew immediately, that this wasn't her.

Basso began backing away slowly from the repulsive abomination, as it began to shrink before his very eyes. He cringed as he heard the thing's bones crunch, it's dark brown flesh ripping apart like withered parchment. What was left there in the dark, was a genuine monster.  
It's body was large, mangy and sick. It smelled of rot, of death. As if every unmentionable discarded life, had somehow been fused together to take the form of this horrendous beast. Fused together by the very souls of the damned.

Needless to say, the boxman did not wait for further introductions. Basso fled from that place, faster than a middle-aged fat man should have been able to.  
Immediately, he regretted it. The creature gave chase, coming up behind him with fearsome speed fueled by a ravenous gut. Gloria cawed and fluttered in desperation, while Basso breathlessly chucked his suitcase at the thing. At that moment, he didn't even care what precious contacts, or incriminating evidence he was carelessly flinging. All he could concentrate on within that adrenaline-fueled moment, was getting away from a ghastly stalker who yearned to gnaw upon his spine.

For whatever inconceivable reason, it worked. The creature shrieked something awful, as the heavy briefcase crushed itself into its unguarded face. It pawed and squealed like a dying pig, as it cradled the deep indent left behind from the metal corner. Basso, now panting quite heavily, gathered himself and resumed his escape.

SOPHIE'S SAFEHOUSE:  
LATER THAT NIGHT:

Basso escaped one bad encounter, only to be thrust directly into another.

Busting one's way directly into Sophie's safehouse, was notoriously reputed to be the quickest way to end up with a dagger through your heart, according to the numerous unscrupulous taffers of the underworld. This evening, however, two sharp objects were pointed in the direction of the uninvited visitor. Basso's eyes were as wide as plates, his little sister's new crossbow pointed directly at his bulbous nose. Garrett, had a gas arrow pointed right between his eyes.

"Hey!" He shouted, flailing his arms about in desperation. Both Sophie and the master criminal exchanged perturbed glances.

"Basso!" Sophie chastised. "We could have shot you, fool!" She lowered, and disarmed her weapon.

Garrett did the same, albeit with a great deal more hesitance. If Basso was going to be stupid enough to just burst into a criminal safehouse unannounced, then perhaps he deserved a little gas-induced slumber.

"Well, I wasn't exactly planning a visit, Soph!" Basso defended, crossing his arms.

"Then, why are you here?" Sophie removed the bolt from her crossbow, toying with it between her fingers for a bit, before tucking it safely away within its carrying case. That's when she noticed Gloria, pecking away at her older brother's ratty top hat. "Basso, what in hellish haunts is that bird doing here? You know I don't like those filthy things!"

The magpie released a sharp caw in Sophie's direction. Basso shot his sister an angered look, before plucking his feathered friend from his shoulder.

"Aww, now look what ya've done Soph! Ya've gone and hurt her feelings!" He cradled the bird between his thick hands, and began cooing to her. "Shhh, there's a good gal...don't ya listen ta that podsnappery ol' church-bell..."

Sophie shot the thief a disbelieving glance, her mouth agape as she began to tap her foot. Garrett remained stoic and emotionless, avoiding eye contact with his irate source. He'd learned over the years, that it was best to avoid taking sides when it came to these infamous sibling squabbles.

"Basso, what the hell are you doing here? It is NOT a good time..." Sophie started up again, once it became abundantly clear that the thief refused to get involved.

"Jeffery kicked me out," he muttered. "I ain't got nowhere else ta go, sis..." The boxman looked up wide-eyed at his sister, still cupping his magpie with both hands. Sophie had to admit-in that moment, he looked downright sheepish. Almost boyish, 's eyes went wide, and once again she and Garrett exchanged glances.

"What?! Why? That potbellied leech promised me that you could live beneath the tavern, so long as I worked there, and you paid your rent!" Sophie raved, her blue-grey eyes livid. "So my question to you is, what the taff did you do to get yourself evicted Basso?!"

"It ain't my fault Sophie!" The boxman defended, taking umbrage at the accusation. "Jeff said, that it was...erm...something to do with Gwenevere, I think?"

Upon receipt of the little nymph's name, the entire room fell silent. Garrett's green prosthetic flashed in the shadows, his lips cementing themselves into a grueling frown.  
Ever since the bombings had started two weeks ago. Ever since someone had been impersonating her, in order to spread fear and death. Gwenevere had been withering before his very eyes, and skilled as he was, Garrett was absolutely powerless to stop it.

The thief remembered what she'd said to him, earlier that night. How hopeless and meek his nymph had appeared, as she lay curled up into a tight little ball of anguish, in response to the world's disloyalty, and fear of her:

"Gwenevere, come on. Get up. We're going to Sophie's for a bit."

"I...don't feel up for it right now..." the nymph faced him, her green eyes pulsating with painful tears. "What if...what if someone, SEES me?"

Garrett stood there, silent repulsion and abject hate welling up within his veins. The very idea that some demented taffer would take it upon themselves to frame someone like her...

But then again, the thief knew this city, and he'd known it for all of his life. It was like he'd told that starry-eyed child, time and time again: Everyone here, was only looking out for one person-themselves.

Someone-rotten as it may be-had gotten the twisted idea to use Gwenevere as a scapegoat for their horrific crime spree. In the end, they didn't care if they were sending an innocent girl to the gallows. And they certainly didn't care that their actions around The City had already spiraled their chosen target into an unspeakable depression.  
Depression. That, was a purgatory to the likes of which no nymph should EVER be burdened. They could feel sorrow, or pain. But a torrential darkness so deep and murky, that none could escape it without help...no woodsie woman should ever be made to endure that! If Gwenevere's diminished, and utterly desiccated state told the worldly thief anything, it was that she wasn't coping with this foreign torment well at all.

"Hey you two? What's the matter? Cat got yer tongues?" Basso joked, attempting to lighten the mood.

Builder knew, he was also in need of a good chuckle, after the night he'd just had!

"Basso...I don't know how to tell you this..." Sophie began, a tight lump budding within her throat. "But, that does actually make some sense. After all, Gwenevere...well, she's been-"

"-What Sophie?" Garrett demanded, startling her. Sophie faced him, her eyes revealing more torture within than she was comfortable with.

"Well Garrett," she proceeded in a hushed whisper. "You know...what they're saying she did..."

"Yeah, I've heard it alright. And I can't believe you're actually buying into it, Sophie!" Garrett's face, was nothing short or menacing. "You of all people!"

"Garrett..." Sophie began, reaching out to comfort him. The thief tore away like a feral cat, the moment her fingers graced his armguard.

"Do you know where Gwenevere is tonight, Sophie?!" Garrett questioned, pointing towards the front door. "She refused to come with me this evening, because she's absolutely destroyed. Everyone, thinks that she's the one behind all of this!"

"Garrett, the evidence is clear..." Sophie cleared her throat, and took a bold step forward. Basso looked back and forth between the thief and his sister, bewilderment donning his round face. "My own...my own childhood friend. I saw, Gwenevere kill her, alright?! I was RIGHT THERE!"

Sophie's strength finally shattered upon receipt of those words, and the vibrant terror they still seared upon the fresh, pulsating wounds of her heart. With a hushed gasp, she covered her mouth with her hands, and began to weep. Garrett paid her no heed. He glowered down at her weak, self-pitying state, and sneered. His words continued to come, as apathetic and callous as ever.

"Tch, you know what? I'm glad she didn't come. Because I can say, with zero uncertainty, that your blatant and unfounded skepticism would have shattered what precious little of that girl which still remains intact!"

His eyes were furious now, blazing with an unspoken affliction. A mystery, which the reclusive moonlighter kept locked up tight between that focused, iron stare. Sophie marveled at his conviction, or perhaps rather, the tempered, focused discipline required to keep the opaque suffering within his eyes only sparsely visible. This had to be killing a part of him too, and she knew it. She knew Garrett, far too well.

"Garrett, I know you're upset right now, but you need to stop throwing all of these allegations around."

"Oh, and you're the innocent party here?" He barked.

"Garrett, that isn't what I said! Can you please just stop it?" Sophie shook her head, rubbing her temples with a long sigh.

"But Garrett's right, Soph!" Basso piped up, halting the thief outright before he had a chance to verbally retaliate again. "Gwennie can't possibly be the one behind this massacre!"

"And why not, Basso?" Sophie indulged in an exhausted tone.

"Oh boy! Have I got a whopper of a tale for you two!" Basso began, waving his arms outward in presentation. "There I was, just mindin' my own taffin' business. Takin' a piss on the side of the tavern fer what they done ta me. When suddenly...I sees it! The most horrible monster ya ever did see! It...it had the body of Gwennie, a-and it sure looked like her from the back! But once it turned around and faced me...oooh!" He visibly shuddered. Sophie put her hands on her hips, and began to purse her lips at the very notion.

"Uh-huh," she remarked in a condescending manner.

Garrett, said nothing, though his expression had contorted into the visage of slight intrigue.

"I'm tellin' ya Sophie! Look, I've been around! I've seen things that'll steal the youth right from yer eyes!"

"I've been around too, Basso. Black Alley Angel-remember?" She groaned. "And besides, I'm not exactly a young maiden anymore."

"Yeah, but! You weren't there tonight, sis! That's my point! I've dealt with even the most repugnant odors and sights, living the way I do. But this, was not the usual stench of some taffer down on his luck takin' a ripe dump! What I smelled, reeked of sulphur, a-and rotten meat! It smelled...evil..."

"Okay, okay Basso," Sophie chided. "Why don't you make yourself at home in the guest room? I'll talk to Mr. Davis in the morning-I'm sure we can work something out."

"Soph, no. Listen to me," the older sibling pleaded. "Whatever I saw, it wasn't the kid! Something was...off about the way it looked. The way it moved. And the fact that it turned into a monster and chased me!"

"That's what I've been trying to tell you both!" Garrett intercepted at this point. "Gwenevere is the victim of this whole mess. It's gotten so bad, that I've been leaving a scouting orb behind every time I go out alone, just to make sure that she doesn't try anything drastic when I'm not around to protect her! The girl won't eat, and she barely sleeps. Gwenevere, is positively fractured. This city, for whatever reason, meant everything to her. And now everyone thinks she's a killer," he glowered at Sophie. She looked away, ashamed and very uncomfortable. She faced her brother, deciding to try and ignore the thief and his accusations out of a deep guilt-and an even deeper betrayal.

"I think you're going to have to be a hell of a lot more descriptive than THAT, brother," Sophie chastised, choosing to ignore Garrett as her discomfort slowly melted into a caustic, toxic brew. Basso looked his little sister dead in the eyes.

"What I mean is, this thing looked almost exactly like her! But when it faced me, something changed. You can see why this is sorta hard for me to explain, sis," the boxman harrumphed.

"It's NOT Gwenevere," the thief barked. "Gwenevere wouldn't do that! She hasn't killed anyone-not even a bleeding noble-in almost a year!"

Sophie stepped forward, placing her hand on Garrett's shoulder. Again, his instincts reacted immediately, and he whirled around with a formidable hostility manifested within that bi-colored glare.

"Don't taffing touch me!" He exploded. Sophie pulled her hand to her chest, and gave the criminal a sympathetic smile.

"Garrett. I know we both want to believe Gwenevere's innocent. But the fact remains, none of us really know just what she's been up to for the last few months. But one thing is apparent-she's changed."

"Not like that she hasn't!" Garrett sneered. He was infuriated that Sophie-a practical mother to the nymph-actually suspected her of such heinous crimes.

"How do you know?" Sophie countered, disorientation and hurt radiating within her features, "she bit you Garrett, and you're the one person who matters the most in her life!"

"That, was another matter entirely, and you know it!" Garrett shouted. The thief couldn't believe what he was hearing! It was obvious that this entire situation was causing Sophie distress, as was the betrayal of Keeper Mcclay. But she was beyond rational thought by this point, if she honestly doubted Gwenevere's innocence to this extent!

It was then that Basso, who had spoken nary a syllable within the last five minutes, made a startling realization. When he finally looked up at his sister and Garrett, a muffled horror threatened to overtake him. The boxman gulped down the acidic bile, as it fought its way up his throat.

"Garrett?"

"Yeah what?!" The thief snarled. The boxman turned to face his rattled younger sister.

"Garrett...was here for how long, exactly?" He managed, a cold and bitter lump rising within his throat.

"Since late afternoon, why?" Sophie inquired defensively. The troubled pauper turned to face Garrett once more.

"And you've been watchin' her all afternoon, ya say?"

"Yes Basso..." Garrett groused. "The scouting orb is linked directly to my eye, so I've been able to observe her all day. She hasn't even left her bed..."

"And you're sure that you've been watchin' Gwennie with that thar orb this ENTIRE time, right?"

"Again, yes," the thief snorted, tapping his metal eye.

The boxman's face turned as pale as a sheet. During the time in which he had experienced his eerie stare down with death, Gwenevere-the real Gwenevere, was being carefully monitored by her thief.

"Basso? What's wrong?" Sophie commented, noticing how all the blood had drained from her sibling's already pallid face. The boxman glanced up at her, his chapped lips slightly agape. Basso froze, feeling as his heart sank to his knees. As he began cuddling his magpie once more, one very disquieting sentence exited his lips.

"Then...then he was watchin' Gwenevere, at the same time that I saw that terrible thing!"

"See? I told you!" The thief released an agitated hiss, glowering at Sophie. "Whatever this thing actually is, one thing is for certain. It's not, my Gwenevere."

"Yes, but-" the older woman began.

"-Listen Sophie," Garrett interrupted. "Just because you were stupid enough to trust a Keeper and get your heart smashed, doesn't give you the right to project that sense of betrayal onto Gwenevere! She didn't do this..."

Silence overtook the room at the thief's worldly accusation. Sophie gasped, bringing her fingers up to her lips again, as she felt the stitches within her heart begin to unravel. Even Basso's expression grew from anxious to grim within a matter of seconds.

"Garrett, geez! That was a bit too heavy, even for you!" Basso stared up at his mate, positively aghast. Garrett remained solemn. Not a shred of reluctance or regret enshrouded his person. Sophie's reaction to Keeper Mcclay's actions had been childish at best, and downright unacceptable as of late. She should have known better than to accuse his girl of murder. And now, in his mind, she was finally paying the only acceptable price.

"Someone had to tell her Basso," the thief remarked, his furious gaze never leaving Sophie. She was staring at the floor now, lost in a place of unspeakable guilt, and heartbreak.

"Yeah, but now's not the best time," Basso sneered, walking over to comfort his sister, "alright?!"

"No, Basso," Sophie muttered. "Garrett might have been a bit blunt, but that's just his way. And he's absolutely right. I allowed my pain to get the better of me. I know Gwenevere isn't like that..."

"Good," Garrett hissed. "Use your mind to solving murder mysteries-not your heart."

"Point taken," Sophie wiped her eyes. "Thank you, for putting things in perspective for me, my friend."

Garrett hesitated, before releasing a loud sigh. He sauntered up to the underworld matriarch with cautionary diligence within his steps.

"And by the way," he touched Sophie's shoulder with the same reluctance as an undertaker handling a corpse of the first time. She jolted up to meet his gaze, stunned. "You're too good for a Keeper, Sophie. Try to remember that," Garrett gave her a somewhat strained smile.

"I...thank you, Garrett," she nodded, teary-eyed.

"Don't worry about it," the thief nodded.


	93. Chapter 93

Her throat taut and her eyes dampened by freshly fallen tears, Gwenevere continued to fret and fidget with her bedsheets. It seemed that no matter how many times she ran her fingers over the lumps in the material to smooth them over, the sheets would always bounce right back into their original, precarious state. Much like her tired mind. The more she tried to wrap her ideals and dreams around this human city and it's cultures, the more hurt and confused she became. As much as Gwenevere loved these humans, the wood nymph was beginning to doubt her place amoungst them, for the first time since coming to this complicated place.

"I just wanted to help. I just wanted...someone...to love me..." she whimpered, stroking Pilfur under the cat's chin. He mewed, his chartreuse eyes gleaming like jewels in the darkness.

"And someone does," a smoky voice called from the deepest recesses of that impenetrable sea of black.

Gwenevere gasped, shooting up from the bed. Several tears broke away from her eyes, misty stars racing away from two gorgeous green nebulas. Enigmas, which only one man had ever managed to truly see beyond. Garrett stepped out of the shadows, Sophie and Basso at his side. The siblings smiled down at Gwenevere, their gentle faces filled with sympathy, and love.

"G-Garrett?" Gwenevere wiped her eyes, "and Sophie and Basso too! W-what are you three doing here?"

Those words cleaved through what little remained of the stoic Sophie's hesitation. With a hitching breath, she rushed over to the little nymph's bedside, and wrapped her in a meaningful embrace. Gwenevere's eyes widened and shimmered, when she realized that Sophie, was sobbing.

"Gwenevere, I... I, am so very sorry..." the older woman pleaded, holding her adopted child close to her heaving chest.

"Sophie?" Why ever are you crying? What are you apologizing for?"Gwenevere cocked her head, and looked to Basso and Garrett for support.

Neither granted it, the boxman shoving his hands into his pockets, the thief, casting his tempered gaze out the window to meet the ivory moon. The shadows of his domain coiled around the sharp features of his face, creating an almost frightening depiction of the mancreature she cherished.

"For letting my own fears stop me from seeing the truth," Sophie admitted.

"What does that mean?" Gwenevere pulled back slightly, due to intrigue, rather than suspicion.

Sophie swallowed the lump within her throat, as she attempted to find the courage to confess her guilt to the trusting girl in her arms. Such courage, did not come.

"I was afraid...of what was happening around the city. And now...now I'm angry."

"You're angry? B-but why?" Gwenevere bit her bottom lip, trying to stop the impending rush of more tears. "Are...are you angry...at me?!"

"No, never!" Sophie shouted, more passionately than she'd been expecting. "I'm angry, because someone's been _framing_ you! Getting good people to mistrust and fear you! And..." Sophie barely managed to catch herself, her pupils dilating with the full impact of that statement.

The full guilt, of her own doubt.

"And?" Gwenevere inquired in a bouncy, eager voice.

Sophie took a deep breath, Garrett's intimidating glare not lost on her. She had to tell Gwenevere the truth.

"And...they had _me _fooled in fact. When I saw...when I saw those creatures..._butcher_ my childhood friend...Gwenevere, you have to understand! They looked _exactly _like you!" Sophie pleaded, her breathing heavy, as the tears continued to flow freely down her cheeks.

Gwenevere showed signs of visible shock at this confession, but remained silent in light of Sophie's obvious regret and pain. She had no words, truly had nothing to say in response to any of this. Sophie, was like a mother to the nymph. If these 'things' were able to so convincingly replicate Gwenevere's form, then it was no wonder why everyone within this daunting metropolis now despised her. Sophie had clearly misidentified the nymph's reaction, because she began to cry harder than Basso had ever seen her cry before. Not since their father had passed, had the Black Alley Angel relinquished all composure like this. Even Garrett appeared visibly bothered by her unexpected breakdown.

The underworld matriarch didn't care if they were gawking at her shameful display. She had forgotten to be discreet with her emotions this time, had forgotten to wipe the saline and snot from her reddening face. And she forgot everything else too, when a slight and shaking little hand came to rest upon her exposed knee.

Sophie's eyes flew open, and she gaped downward at the delicate extremity. It was the first time wherein she'd noticed just how tiny Gwenevere's hands actually were. Everything about that girl had always been miniscule, almost artificially so. Like a life-sized porcelain doll was she, crafted by an artist with far too much time to spare.  
But Gwenevere, was far from breakable. Her mind had been learning, and her soul had become tempered and wise. Like a flower, shattering the cobblestones to reach the sun, so too had Gwenevere proven the strength and determination, concealed behind such unassuming, dainty features.

When her voice did come, it was bell-like and soft. Yet the words somehow caused distraught Sophie to cringe.

"Sophie. I can understand why you thought it was me. It's okay. How were you to know?" Gwenevere offered.

How was she to know?! She, was the nymph's caretaker! Her maternal guide long after the last of Viktoria's seeds and pressed petals had been scattered to the winds. Sophie, was the only parent the woodsie princess had left to confide in. To trust. And she, had failed her. Yet, in spite of that, Gwenevere had readily _understood_. Sophie looked up at her child, and smiled. Purity such as hers, had no place within a world such as this. Flowers, did not coexist amidst smoke and darkness. But for whatever inconceivable reason, this one, _chose_ to.

"You are so wonderful Gwenevere," Sophie shuddered, her lips pulled taut into a disconsolate expression, "and we're going to put a stop whoever's been besmirching your good name!"

"But...all those people..." the little nymph mumbled, the carnage inflicted in her name, still so fresh and terrible. Garrett decided to intervene, when the nymph refused to make eye contact with anyone in that small, dilapidated room.

"We're gonna find out who's doing this, Gwenevere. And we're gonna stop it."

"Yes sweetie. We promise you," Sophie added.

"Thanks you guys..." Gwenevere finally managed to smile.

"Don't mention it, kiddo!" Basso nodded, Gloria perched with pride atop his shoulder.

"Anyway, I-I _couldn't _have done this!" Gwenevere began again. At first, her voice seemed optimistic, deceivingly cheerful. But after a few soundless moments, it became apparent to everyone within that stuffy little room, that something was very wrong. "I...I..."

Garrett stepped forward when he realized that she wasn't able to continue, concern radiating across his stony expression.

"Gwenevere? What is it?" the thief asked. Gwenevere looked up at him, and Garrett instantly regretted his inquiry.

"I-I've lost all my magic, Garrett. I'm completely powerless now. I couldn't have skewered _any_ of those people with my branches, because...because...I can't even use a puny light spell!" She howled the last of those words, the sound both frightening, and exceedingly miserable.

The three old friends exchanged mortified glances, while the nymph lowered her head. Before any of her family members could find the proper words to express their mutual despondency, Gwenevere continued.

"I suppose I finally got my wish," she remarked wistfully, shuddering under her breath as she wiped a single tear from her crestfallen eyes. "I'm human now. Or at least, the closest replica that a denounced Trickster's Maiden could ever hope to achieve..."

Garrett's arms went limp upon receipt of the nymph's horrible confession, his mouth agape with words that refused to come. A clash of blazing torments, each evoking a different response. Anger. Pain. Guilt. Sorrow. A knotted, ugly bundle of emotions, which when intertwined, rendered him temporarily mute. Words soon flavored his tongue again however, but any hopes for a sympathetic response, were little more than gullible daydreams, shrouded by whimsy. For the thief, he felt responsible. Trapped. And when Garrett felt trapped, he retaliated.

"Gwenevere!" he barked, before thinking better of it. "When the hell were you planning on telling me this?!"

Gwenevere looked up at him, her eyes widening at the sudden boom of his voice. Obviously, rage wasn't the reaction she had anticipated. Basso shot his mate a look which the thief easily translated to, 'what the hell?', whilst Sophie's eyes practically plunged two daggers into his chest.

"I..." Gwenevere fumbled for the right words, but her heart was too shattered to cooperate. "I was with my Merry Gang when I first noticed the signs...and you and I have only recently started speaking again..." she finished her explanation with a disapproving grunt.

"Only _recently_? Gwenevere, we've been living together again for over _two weeks_!" the thief continued to bellow at her, refracting his tortuous emotions back at her in the form of visceral contempt. His guilt, made _her_ fault.

"Garrett!" Basso hollered, more assertive than his usual self. "Leave the poor kid alone!"

"Yeah Garrett," Sophie consented, "This, is Gwenevere's burden. It is her choice when-and if-she choses to tell _anyone_!"

Garrett looked her dead in the eyes.

"Not with something like this, it's not..." he snarled. "Something like this...something that will impact her for the rest of her life..."

He gasped, and he could not stifle it, as the reality of those words sank in. His nymph, was now forever powerless. Despite his best efforts, Garrett had failed her. She was now lost to the woods, the last forest nymph on earth now deprived of the very thing which made her special, by HIS thoughtless hand.

"I should have been told..." he concluded with a raspy mutter.

He looked at Gwenevere, as those last five, accusatory words left his lips. The little nymph shuddered, her eyes sparkling against a backdrop of shaded urban decay.

"I-I wasn't planning on keeping it a secret forever!" she pleaded, her irises dazzling like lightning. "I just..."

"You just, _what _Gwenevere?" the thief pressed her. Gwenevere turned away from him, and Sophie cuddled the girl tighter against her bosom.

"That's enough Garrett!" she hissed.

But since when had Garrett _ever _listened to Sophie?

"No..." he growled. "She _owes _me an explanation Sophie!"

"Garrett, by the gods I swear-"

"-It's okay, Sophie," Gwenevere began, hugging her maternal figure, before pulling out of her comforting embrace. "I can speak for myself now."

"Then do it," Garrett snapped.

Gwenevere faced him, and stood. Her posture was rigid, confident. Prepared for any backlash the furious criminal might spew at her.

"The reason why I didn't tell you sooner, was because I don't always know how to speak to you. You have a tendency to...well...overreact. You're so used to surviving on your own in this unjust world, that I think sometimes you forget how difficult it can be for the rest of us. We're all struggling too, Garrett. And when you have a tendency to _devalue_ our struggles like that, well, it becomes a real challenge to trust you with such things..."

Her words, impaled straight through the moonlighter's perplexing soul. His pupils-one of metal and glass, the other, an exceedingly dark shade of brown-shivered and glistened amidst the murky room like teasing glimmers of hope.

Hope, which no longer existed. Magic, which was now lost.

"Gwenevere, why was it so hard?" he began in a dead whisper of a voice, which grew and mutated into a fearsome crescendo. "Why is it so damn hard for you to trust my judgement?! I would _never _devalue you! Not _you_! Name one time when I did!" he challenged.

The nymph gave him a mystified stare.

"Didn't you realize?" she began in an almost compassionate tone. "Garrett, you've been treating me like some breakable object from the very beginning!"

Garrett answered this accusation with neither biting remarks, or sardonic retorts-but rather, a downright fractured expression. Reality and memory, now collaborated to bring the thief to his knees, and they were almost successful. But be it by balance-or mere stubbornness-Garrett managed to regain a sparse amount of his usually collected composure.

"I know. And I've since admitted how wrong I was to do so. I set you free, and you _chose_ to remain by my side!" he started. "If you really think of me as some sort of apathetic ass, then why the hell didn't you _leave_?!"

"Because I've learned, that this is just who you are. You're ornery, and complicated. But you're also profound, and witty. I _love_ who you are, even if you hurt me sometimes...I never want to hurt _you_," Gwenevere explained, lowering her gaze from the infuriated visage of the master thief. "Revealing this secret too soon...I guess I was afraid, that you would blame yourself. After all, you were the one who taught me not to rely on my magic. Not to use, or practice it."

The thief scoffed at her accusation, but inside, he frowned as another small piece of his soul began to darken. Even whilst covered, the wood beast eye still penetrated deep into the murkiest realms of the thief's being, and he knew that. Though he would never agree with her, Gwenevere was indeed correct. She did know him. She knew him better than anyone. Because he had allowed it. And she was correct as well-he did blame himself.

Garrett sighed, and sauntered up to the vibrant little fairy creature before him. Even devoid of all magic, Gwenevere never ceased to enchant him.

"Gwenevere, look. We'll never know how I would have reacted if you'd told me sooner. But now that I know, I can't ignore this," he reached up with some reluctance-Basso and Sophie were right there, after all-and touched her left cheek. "You understand that, don't you?"

"Yes," Gwenevere closed her eyes, softening at his touch. "But Garrett? There really is nothing you can do. Nothing _I _can do. I can't even help the people of this city anymore...without my magic..."

Garrett watched as her burgundy lips began to quiver, his brave little nymph trying her best not to break apart in his arms. The thief grinned, and brought his left hand up behind her head. He felt as her strawberry locks fell gently between his fingertips.

"Don't be so certain of that. Some things done with magic, can instead be accomplished, with skill..."

With that, the thief retracted his hand from her hair, and held it out in front of her face. Gwenevere's eyes widened with surprise, as they beheld the glinting coin Garrett now held between his calloused digits.

"H-how did you DO that?" she wondered aloud, staring at the twinkling currency.

"My father was a world-class thief in his own right, Gwenevere. Used to run a game down by the docks," Garrett began to grin. While she continued to gawk, he flipped the coin in the air, and captured it again without looking. "Let's just say, you can't be the son of a wanted swindler and Broadsman without picking up a few tricks."

He was right. Gwenevere had been using her magic less and less already, leaning in favor of the skills her thief had taught her. Lock picking, stealth. Planning and finesse. She began to realize that losing her powers, did not mean that she was losing her ability to help the City. In that moment, Gwenevere had never been more grateful for the invaluable gift her mentor had bestowed upon her. Through him, she now possessed a trait which no woodsie woman before her had ever carried-the ability to escape the Trickster, and live outside the forest. The freedom, to live her life the way_ she_ decreed.

"You make a good point there, Garrett," she smiled.

"Of course I do," the thief chuckled. "And trust me when I say this Gwenevere; You've got yourself some serious skills."

A soft pink blush ran along the lines of the little nymph's profile, creating the embodiment of sheer glee. Her eyes twinkled in the dusty room, almost as though this callous moonlighter had restored their luster. Ironic, as Garrett was usually prone to _purloining_ beautiful things.

"Th-thank you..." was all the delighted girl could offer up as payment for this revival-but it was enough. Then, something akin to apprehension, but bearing that unmistakable hint of meaningful yearning, "so...do you think maybe I'm skilled enough to be...to be..."

Something screamed inside of her mind to be silent, the fear of her most beloved mentor's rejection far too powerful to be denied. Gwenevere's eyes closed, and the thief's began to narrow.

"To be what, Gwenevere?" he asked. The concern laced betwixt his words served to loosen the nymph's tongue, long enough for her to stammer out a pitiful response.

"T-to be your partner..."

The look on Garrett's rough face must have been nothing short of shocked, because Gwenevere nearly caved in on herself forthwith. But she did manage to finish her request, even as the terror of a most capricious rejection began to take hold within her mind.

"N-not right away I mean! B-but maybe...in the future...i-if it ever comes up, that is-"

"-Gwenevere. Don't you DARE demean yourself like that," he ground his teeth, cupping her cheeks in his large hands. The nymph released a loud gasp, as Garrett lightly brushed his stubble-covered cheek across her ear, and whispered, "You're _so _much more, than just a partner to me..."

And with that consequential statement, the rest of Gwenevere's lost luster, returned.

"Garrett. Sophie. Basso," she turned to each of her unlikely family members, raising up a little fist in the air. "I wanna help you guys find the monsters who did this. I want to help put things right!"

"Sounds good to me, Gwenevere," Garrett smiled. "Come on. We've got ourselves a killer to track down."


	94. Chapter 94

After she had taken the time to water each of the flower pots, and stroke Pilfur beneath his fuzzy little chin, Gwenevere darted out into the evening streets.

She and the others followed Basso, as the boxman retracted his steps from hours prior. The streets of The City, had an ineffable quality about them that night. The torchlights hissed like fearsome serpents, their tips glowing in the murky blackness like sinister eyes. Gwenevere shuddered, as she caught the unmistakable stench of death permeating the midnight air.

It was as if the whole world had gone mad, and in many respects, it very well had.

As the four outlaws rounded the street which led back to the Crippled Burrick tavern, Sophie froze. Her brother and the master thief noticed this shift in her demeanor the moment it took hold. But Gwenevere seemed to be off in a world all her own, and it took the little creature a few minutes more, before she realized that her trio of beloved taffers were no longer following her. The nymph skidded to a halt, and spun around on her heel to face them.

"Hey. What's the matter?" Gwenevere asked.

The blooming curiosity within her gleaming irises offered the only illumination within this usually bustling area of town. The streets were barren, quiet as the woods before the revival of a great spirit. Several of the street lamps had been shattered and bent by an unnatural entity. Trepidation coiled its invisible fingers around moonlight, and puffs of smoke.

"This..." Sophie gasped, her desire to regain lost composure unrecognized by her frantic heart. "...was where it killed her..."

Basso wrapped an arm around his little sister's shoulder, feeling her quake and sink. It had been so many years now, since he'd been able to competently play the big brother roll like this. It felt...wonderful. He'd been such a miserable old wretch for what seemed like ages, and through it all, Sophie, had been taking care of _him_. Basso had never hesitated long enough to ponder the implications of their relationship-whether or not he had been inadvertently failing, and hurting her. Now, he did. And he silently swore, that he would never do this to her again. Sophie, needed him-just as much as he needed her.

"Soph. It must have been horrible..." he grunted, in a solemn voice much unlike his usual brand of speech. The older woman dried her eyes, and looked up at him.

"It was. I saw everything..." she hiccupped. "I saw Sasha trip her, Basso."

"Sasha?!" The boxman gaped at the very notion, that the younger woman he idolized, could be capable of such a wicked action. He wondered why he hadn't recognized her. But then again, darkness and panic had sinister ways of clouding one's mind.

"Yes brother," Sophie shuddered. There was something akin to empathy within her words. She knew how much Basso fancied that girl, after all. "I watched as Sasha ran off into the night, leaving MY best friend to be ripped apart by that...that..."

It was impossible for Sophie to continue, as shades of ghastly red, and screams no mortal should ever hear, rendered her silent. Basso patted her back, and looked up at Garrett with a worried look in his eyes. The thief said nothing, as a rush of disquieting wind swept up the sides of his body. His cloak crumpled, creating that subtle sound Gwenevere secretly loved so much.

The nymph walked over to where Sophie now squatted in an almost comatose state, and hugged her gently. Her affections seemed to thaw the Black Alley Angel from her incapacitated stupor. Sophie's eyes widened, before she shut them again, pulling the concerned nymph closer against her throbbing heart.

"Mom?" Gwenevere inquired, her voice meek.

"Yes, my sweet child?"

"Are you gonna be okay?"

Sophie smiled, her expression growing warm as the terror and trauma melted from her features. She looked from Gwenevere, then up to Basso, and finally at Garrett.

"So long as I have all of you...I'll be just fine," she nodded, as teardrops pricked at the corners of her livid eyes.

"We'd be lost without ya, Sophie," Basso commented. "_I'd_, be lost without ya."

"Brother..."

Sophie managed a strained smile, one which would surely cause her eyes to overflow with tears if she failed to maintain it. Basso smiled at her, and Gwenevere hugged her tighter. Garrett spoke not a word, but rather watched them from the corner of his eye.

"Basso," the thief finally muttered, pointing towards the back alleyway of the tavern. "Is that where you encountered the thing?"

"Why yes, actually!" Basso nodded, retracting his arm from his sibling's calming form. "I was right around back, takin' a piss, as I said."

"Thanks for that lovely image, Basso," Garrett groused. He chanced a peek at Gwenevere.

He wondered how this investigation was affecting her. Ever since the attacks had begun, the wood nymph had cloistered herself away from the carnage. This was her first time, surveying the aftermath. She appeared normal-or about as normal as Gwenevere could possibly be-exuberant, and eager to track down the mysterious killer. When the nymph felt the thief's eyes upon her, she released Sophie and smiled up at him.

"What?" she asked, cocking her head, hands cupped behind the small of her back.

"How are you doing there, Gwenevere?" the thief asked, genuine concern laced around his words.

"Oh, I'm doing just fine Garrett!" she giggled. "Thank you so much for asking!"

"No problem," he smirked.

The four moved with considerable caution around towards the back of the Crippled Burrick, peering out into the darkness ahead of them. Basso's suitcase was still laying in the street, the left edge dented and crusted over with a tarry black substance. Relief swept over his person, as the boxman scampered forward to retrieve it. That case was filled to the brim with incriminating evidence, after all!

"Ahh! It's still here," Basso sighed with releif. "I was afraid that beastie would've chewed it to shreds!"

"You...threw a briefcase, at a monster?" Sophie shot her brother a bemused look.

"It was all I could think of at the time to defend myself, sheesh!" he snapped, and walked forward to collect the thing.

"Stop!" Gwenevere warned, practically pouncing in front of Basso before he had a chance to grab for the handle. The boxman stumbled forward in surprise, nearly tripping over her.

"What the heck kid?!" he reacted harshly, before thinking better of it. But the nymph's solemn eyes remained unfazed.

Still crouched forward, Gwenevere crept over to the briefcase. Garrett's eyes narrowed, as he watched her odd antics with abject fascination. The nymph sniffed the blackened end of the case, and bared her fangs like a trained hound discovering the scent of a fugitive. She looked up at the three humans surrounding her, and pawed at the cobbles with her hand.

"This is blood. Evil blood."

"What are you trying to say, Gwenevere?" Garrett asked with an air of genuine interest. He knew better than to take a wood nymph's sense of smell lightly.

"I mean, whatever it was that Basso hit with this...it's no ordinary creature."

"Well then, what the hell is it?" the boxman demanded. "And when can I have my case back?"

"It's a demon, Basso," Gwenevere concluded, her eyes focused and sincere, "and I'm afraid you can't. The object has been tainted, and it will curse any who dares touch it."

"Then, what should we do? Many people visit the tavern on a daily basis. Anyone walking down the road could try and pick up that suitcase," Sophie added, a touch concerned.

"I know. Which is why I must perform a cleansing ritual over the object," Gwenevere nodded.

"Cleansing ritual?" Garrett raised an eyebrow. "Do you know of such a thing?"

"Yes. Ayeena taught me one. She's been helping me rediscover pieces of my ancestry, and I already know how to blend potions and herbs ya know," Gwenevere explained with the briefest of giggles.

Before the others could object, she removed the following objects from her fur pouch: A stone bowl, a bundle of herbs, some twigs, and the painted bone of some small animal. After depositing the herbs within the bowl, Gwenevere arranged the twigs in a curious, careful fashion. She then looked over her shoulder, and motioned for Garrett.

"Do you suppose you could shoot a fire arrow at these?" she asked. The thief gave her a perplexed stare.

"Any reason why?"

"Because Garrett, I need fire for this to work!" the nymph retorted.

Garrett sighed, mumbled something under his breath, and unslung his quiver from his back. Choosing a fire arrow from his secured arsenal, the thief readied his bow, and took the simple shot. The twigs reacted immediately, as the flames consumed their essence. Garrett thought for a moment, that he heard a low hiss rising up from the flames, but he couldn't be sure. Gwenevere went back to work, holding out one of her herbs before the ravenous fire.

"Careful," Garrett heard himself instruct, before his mind could think better of it.

The wood nymph did not answer him, however. She was now fully absorbed in whatever occult ritual she was implementing. He watched her eyes grow luminous, as they observed the flames consuming the malachite leaf. Then, with a deliberate, yet graceful wave of her hand, Gwenevere extinguished the burning herb. She then gently replaced it back into the bowl with its fellows. Tendrils of smoke began steadily rising up from the smoldering brew.

"Does this mean you're finished with the fire, Gwenevere?" Garrett interrupted with obvious impatience.

"Yes," she replied, though her voice now seemed a world away.

The thief sighed, and hastened to extinguish the still-blazing twigs with a water arrow, lest some wandering bluecoat catch sight of four wanted criminals loitering around in a back alley. After replacing his tools, Garrett joined Sophie and Basso, as they continued to observe the nymph's peculiar ritual. None of them had any idea why it was necessary, or what the curious girl hoped to achieve. But they trusted her to know what she was doing.

As Gwenevere continued stirring the crisping ashes with the animal bone, she waved her hand in delicate maneuvers around herself, drawing the smoke to her kneeling form. Starting from the top, she brought the smoke over and around her head, down her torso, and finally, all the way to her toes. Her breathing was serene, demure, and almost inaudible as she did this. Garrett watched with bated breath as the smoke encircled her features. There was something indisputably gorgeous about how tranquil she appeared in that moment.

Once she was finished safeguarding her person, Gwenevere began directing the smoke over towards her companions, fanning and guiding it down their bodies in a similar process. Finally came the suitcase. Gwenevere fanned the smoke across the tainted object, caution and tact employed as she searched the patterns in the cleansing smog for any signs of corruption, or deficiency. As she did this, the young woman uttered the following prayer in a sullen tone:

"Gods of the earth. Gods of the sea. Gods of the air. With the utmost respect, I ask for you to vanquish all wickedness from this area, from the spirits of the living, and from those who lurk just beyond the hazy curtain of our reality. We give thanks for the protection and vitality you have bestowed unto our world, and we pray that you shall continue to keep us safe from that which waits to devour our souls in the dark."

Once she was finished, Gwenevere stood. She walked past Garrett and the others without a single word, and deposited the cooling herbs into a small patch of damp soil. After covering over the charred remains with dirt, she placed her palms against the ground, and whispered a very solemn, "thank you."

Turning around to face the others, her usual exuberance returned.

"Okay Basso! You can go ahead and pick up your suitcase now!" she laughed. The boxman shot her a wary glare.

"You sure about that, kid?"

"Well of course I am! The ritual proceeded without a hitch, so it's perfectly safe to touch now," she nodded with a reassuring little grin.

"Whatever you say, kiddo," Basso blinked, shrugged, and with a groan, be bent down and retrieved his case. He trotted over to a nearby barrel, and set the briefcase down atop it. There, the boxman began inspecting the incriminating contents within. "None of em' seem to be missin', thank the gods!" the boxman marveled, feeling as his paranoia began to subside.

While Basso was doing this, Garrett turned to Gwenevere. She had just finished cleaning out her stone bowl, her hair glimmering in the moonlight like a long carmine ribbon.

"Glad your precious papers are secure, but let's get back to the subject at hand, shall we?" he groused. "How exactly are we supposed to find that demon? It could be anywhere by now."

"Well," Sophie began, pressing an index finger to her lips, "we could always enlist Erin to help us here. _She_ knows a thing or two about tracking."

"Yep, she knows a thing or two alright..." Garrett muttered under his breath.

He hadn't spoken to Erin since that terrible day. The day in which his waif had shattered any and all hope of things returning back to the way they had once been. Back when trust was something the blue-eyed orphan never wanted to lose.

"Then it's settled!" Sophie's exuberant voice shattered the thief's bittersweet memories like glass. "We'll go on down to Skinmarket and get her! I haven't seen the dear's hideout in oh so long. I do hope she's keeping it-"

"-That's not gonna happen," Garrett interrupted, cracking his knuckles. Sophie stared blankly at his response, and her eyes began to narrow.

"What do you mean, Garrett?" she asked.

"Let's just say, we're not on speaking terms at the moment..."

Sophie crossed her arms, a waft of warm evening air threatening to undo her messy bun. She looked the wayward criminal over, as if trying to find that hidden door. The one he'd occasionally let her use, to gain access to his deepest personal tribulations and mysteries. But that, had been a very, very long time ago, and try as she might, Sophie couldn't find a way to reach him this time.

"Garrett, what happened?" she asked, although she already knew what his reaction would be. Without that door, Sophie held no chance of gaining a true answer from the thief. And he wasn't about to let her in. Not tonight, anyway.

"Forget it, Sophie," his words were surprisingly gentle, given what the older woman had been expecting. Perhaps, this was why Sophie decided to press her luck with the situation. A terrible mistake indeed.

"Garrett, Erin's your daughter! You can't just let her throw you out of her life! What if she's in danger? What if those things found her?!"

A horrifying scenario, and one which he had already considered. But Garrett-though he would never admit it-had already checked up on her, following these savage attacks. She hadn't seen him, but _he_ had seen her. Entering the House of Blossoms again, no less.

"She's fine," Garrett huffed. "Erin's no lightweight. Hell, ten gold coins says those things are running from _her_."

"This is no time for jokes, Garrett! Whatever happened between you two, it needs to be resolved. As her guardian, you have a right to assert your authority. Even if she hates your guts right now, we NEED her tonight!"

Garrett ground his teeth. Sophie's commanding and invasive approach had always irked him, but rarely more so than when she pretended to understand situations which she'd never personally experienced. Gwenevere notwithstanding, Sophie was no parent. She had never raised a child, and she certainly didn't comprehend the full weight and complexity, behind such an intricate relationship. Regardless of her good intentions, there was no easy way to resolve what had transpired between the thief and his daughter. And certainly none, which could be resolved within a single night.

"Look Sophie. She's an adult woman, alright? Or have you just forgotten that?" Garrett snapped. "Because trust me-_she_ hasn't."

"What does THAT mean?!" Sophie raised an eyebrow, and her voice.

"It means, mind your own damn business," Garrett barked.

"Yes, because Erin is clearly only kin to _you_!"

"Sophie, just can it, okay?"

"No!" Sophie stomped her foot, startling her brother who had been watching the tiff from a distance. "I'm so sick and tired of allowing you, and your appalling behavior to distance this family!"

"Sophie," Garrett rolled his eyes, and released an extended sigh, "this is neither the time, nor the place. So can you please just taff off?"

"What did you just say to me?!"

"You've got ears, don't you?"

"Yeah, and in a few moments, you aren't going to have any-"

"-Hey guys! Stop fighting!" Gwenevere's outcry came as a welcome respite to both sides of the heated argument. Once the nymph knew that she had properly gained their attention, she continued, "I have a great nose, remember? I think I can get the monster's scent, if I really focus!"

"Um, you serious?" Basso asked, skeptical to say the least. Gwenevere nodded.

"Uh-huh! I can be your gorehound!"

"That's _bloodhound_, Gwenevere," Garrett corrected, rubbing his temples.

"Naw, naw! Keep gorehound. I like it better," Basso laughed.

"Well boys, I don't rightly think it matters what we call it. The real deciding factor, is whether or not Gwenevere can actually DO this!" Sophie commented.

"Wow. Way to suck all the fun out of it, Soph..." the boxman groaned. Sophie rolled her eyes.

"It's true, Sophie," Garrett began, "nymphs have a wickedly acute sense of smell. This could work."

"Better than a trained tracker-like _Erin_?" the older woman pressed.

"I told you-drop it."

Garrett locked eyes with Gwenevere, and pointed at Basso's suitcase.

"Let me see what you can do," he ordered. And the nymph, obeyed.

***

In all honestly, it was quite an accomplishment. Gwenevere had gone through the majority of her time at Garrett's side without embarrassing him with her odd and naïve antics. Suffice to say, she'd picked a hell of a bad night to start.

Her nose dusted the cobblestones for any trace of information as she went, scampering through the hazy midnight streets on all fours. Her bottom swayed as she continued forward, higher than the rest of her occupied form. Garrett tried his best to ignore this ridiculous display. He could only imagine the awkward expressions upon Basso and Sophie's faces. But in Basso's case at least, he was sorely mistaken. For the boxman was very much enjoying his view. A harsh slap from his overbearing sister however, interrupted his pleasure.

"Basso! Shame on you!" she hissed, white-hot fury blazing within her blue-grey eyes.

"Aw, come on! I'm only human, Sophie!" Basso whispered back, seething as he rubbed his now sore cheek.

"Be that as it may, you'll abandon your lecherous leanings for tonight if you know what's good for you. If Garrett sees you drooling at her like that, you're gonna wake up in a sewer somewhere with one hell of a headache!" Sophie warned, as they continued to follow Gwenevere onward through the darkness.

"But I _wasn't_ droolin'..." Basso muttered under his breath.

Gwenevere came to an abrupt halt, her body stiff and rigid. She pointed a finger out towards the shadowy outline of an old factory. The weather-worn visage of Heleana grinning deviously down at the entryway, caused the nymph to tremble with dread. Memories of metal, pain, and far too much blood, ravaged her mind like a vicious storm. Amber eyes of a woman, whose manipulation of the human form, would put even the nymph's own attempts to shame.

Those eyes-Gwenevere still remembered how they had screeched when Heleana would stare at her. It was as if the silicone flesh was struggling to hold back the distorted automaton within. It all left Gwenevere wondering, what sort of madness caused a person to surrender their souls to the will of another. To become twisted, and remade into something truly terrifying. Sometimes, Gwenevere worried that she too, shared this insanity. Perhaps-as much as the idea disgusted her-she had far more in common with the savage Mechanist dominatrix than she realized.

After all, Heleana had abandoned everything she was for the sake of a beloved, and trusted mentor. Hadn't the starry-eyed nymph done the same?

Before these ghastly epiphanies could break her, Garrett approached from behind, and cupped one of his rugged hands over her head. He teased with her unkempt ruby bangs, peering down that steep and unsettling road leading up to the abandoned structure. The thief's expression turned grim, as his metal prosthetic began to observe something lurking in the darkness.

"You did good," he spoke to his nymph in a low, solemn voice. "That's definitely one of them."

Gwenevere squinted her eyes, and peered down into the shadowy remains of Heleana's lost progress. Indeed, her thief was correct. For there amidst the tarnished wreckage of rusted machinery, and water-logged robotic killers, paced a monster of flesh and blood. It hadn't seen the four interlopers-much to Gwenevere's relief.

A low buzzing sound registered from above her, causing the young girl to jump. Garrett's hand began caressing her head again, prompting Gwenevere to look up at him. He was still staring off into the distance, his mouth slightly agape as he focused.

"It's alright," he reassured in a low, distracted tone. "I'm trying out the new features now..."

"New features?" Gwenevere blinked, still looking up at him.

"Yeah. The photography and cinematography components that Woksworth installed, remember?"

"Oh yeah!" the nymph chirruped. "Gosh, you're so very clever Garrett!"

"Yep..." he remarked, still focused on the task at hand.

After several tense, wordless moments there upon that shady precipice of fear, Garrett took a step back, and pulled something unseen from his knapsack. Gwenevere and the others watched with conjoined unease, as he fastened a small blinking device to the corner of his mechanical eye. Some unpleasant scraping and fizzling could be heard, followed by a repeating mantra of low hums. Garrett kept his fingers clenched around the second half of that device, as the mechanical sounds droned into silence. He then produced two objects from the unseen component-a two-inch circular disk, and a series of photographs. The thief wore a dire, unsettled frown as he focused on the disturbing images. With a fretful scorn, he passed them off to Sophie and Basso, who had been waiting eagerly behind him. Their expressions fell into mortified shock.

"That's exactly what I saw!" Basso sputtered.

"Same here, brother," Sophie remarked, her hands trembling. She looked up at Garrett, tears forming at the corners of her eyes. "Oh Garrett, you've done it! You've cleared Gwenevere's name!"

"I also managed to record one of those nightmares as it transformed back from her form," the thief grinned, holding up the small circular disk. "That should be enough to convince anyone."

Without the slightest hint of a warning, Gwenevere rose to her feet and hugged Garrett as tight as she could. The momentum caused the thief to lose his balance-albeit momentarily. Once he had steadied himself, Garrett looked down at an ecstatic Gwenevere, and smiled.

"You're welcome," he smirked.

Gwenevere didn't offer a response. Her eyes ran with tears, and her lips trembled with gratitude and emotion. They were one step closer to clearing her good name-and rescuing her beloved city from certain destruction.

Unfortunately, in her haste to thank Garrett for his cleverness, Gwenevere had neglected to practice finesse and silence. As she cuddled him there atop the decaying hillside, several dozen pairs of cruel white eyes flashed to life in the murky factory courtyard below. The thief's posture went stiff and icy in her arms.

"Move!" he hollered, pushing the nymph off of him. Before she had a chance to exclaim her displeasure, the master thief grabbed her up again, and tossed her light frame up over his shoulder.

"Garrett? What's-" Basso began, bewilderment apparent within his features.

"Never mind that! Move those squat legs of yours Basso, NOW!" Garrett barked, his face wild with anxiety.

Sophie dared to look behind her, and immediately regretted it. For the mimics, were now clawing their way up the neglected pathway, hunger and malice in their grotesque, twisted faces. Some still bore the likeness of Gwenevere, while others were halfway through their unnatural transformation; the wood nymph's face sliding down the side of the monstrosities form like candle wax.

"Let's go, Basso!" Sophie ordered, grasping her older brother's hand and pulling him along.

"Aw taff! Not this again!" the boxman wheezed.

***

By nothing short of a miracle-and a few well-aimed flash bombs via Garrett-the four outlaws managed to escape their pursuers. Basso lay on his back atop the Thieves Highway, panting and gasping for breath which still refused to come. Gloria the magpie, was perched smugly atop his heaving gut, staring up at the velvety night sky. Sophie kept lookout for their hunters, and Gwenevere shivered in her thief's arms.

"That was too close," Garrett muttered, leering down into the muggy darkness beneath his feet. "We need to wrap up this little investigation, and fast."

"I agree," Sophie huffed. "Any ideas on what you're planning to do with the evidence we've gathered?"

Garrett's mouth went dry. Indeed, he hadn't given that particular step any thought just yet. He was a survivalist, after all. Tonight's goal, had been to gather information to clear his girl's name, and staying alive in the process.

"Not as such," he replied, somewhat bitterly.

But leave it to Sophie, to have even the most troubling details wrapped up and organized, long before he even had a chance to comprehend them. This, was why she was one of his best sources, and had been for over twenty years.

"Ah. Well, I think I just might have a plan. Remember Frankford?" she asked. Garrett shot her a bemused glare.

"You mean that watch dog who was always chomping at the bit to betray his own? Yeah, I vaguely remember that guy."

"He was so helpful during your visit to the First City Bank and Trust all those years ago, now wasn't he?" Sophie pursed her lips. "Getting the information to his fellow bluecoats and the sheriff should be no problem."

"As much as I hate to admit it, we really do have to get this information to the city watch," Garrett groused. He looked down at a shivering Gwenevere.

If it were him, Garrett would have been content to just allow the people to fear him. Intimidation had its advantages, especially if one happened to get spotted during a heist. Though this rarely-if ever-happened to him anymore.

But Gwenevere, wasn't the least bit like him. He knew that his nymph would be heartbroken if she could no longer walk amoungst the citizens of this metropolis. If they continued to fear and despise her forever.

"So then, it's settled," Sophie continued. "I'll get into contact with Frankford, and we can all arrange a little visit to drop off your photos. Oh, and the disk."

"Yeah, but what about the bombings? We still haven't found a way to disprove those yet," the thief added.

"Oh right! The bombs that were goin' off, and spraying thorns and leaves around with the shrapnel. Yup, I remember those!" Basso finally offered something to the discussion at hand.

"Do you think that those creatures are behind the bombings too?" Sophie asked.

"No. Those things only know how to do one thing, and that's mindlessly attack. They don't strike me as clever enough to construct such an elaborate device, let alone orchestrate an attack such as a bombing," Garrett explained.

"Hmm. Well, we do have the suspicion that those things aren't working alone. For one thing, they aren't indigenous to The City or the surrounding forests," Gwenevere spoke up. "I suspect that someone-someone human-is giving them orders. Sort of like those things you humans keep in your houses or barns. You know? The animals you force to serve you?"

"You mean, _pets_, Gwenevere?" Garrett smirked.

"Yeah! That's the word!"

"Gwenevere," Garrett moaned. "Don't _you _have a pet cat yourself?"

"Nuh-uh! Pilfur's not a _pet_! He's my _friend_! You're the one who named him, Garrett!" the nymph defended, her eyes like two passionate green flames.

"Okaaay...seemed _that _touched a nerve..." the thief remarked sardonically.

"But who would want pets like those?" Basso pondered.

"Tch, nobles most likely. They're always keeping weird and obscure beasts as a hobby. Just look at Ramirez and his bastard sons..."

"But Garrett, Ramirez wasn't a noble-he was a crime lord," Sophie corrected.

"Tell that to him," Garrett retorted with a chuckle.

"Taffer did have an opulent estate at one point," Basso added. "And reputedly, delusions of grandeur that would make even Lord Bafford blush."

"Okay, so we think it's a noble. That's a good start," Sophie nodded. "Could a noble also be behind the bombings?"

"I still think our best guess would be the Hammerites," Garrett commented. "Those bombs were of a high caliber of craftsmanship, after all."

"Oh? How would you know about stuff like that, Garrett?" Gwenevere asked.

"I dabble," was all he answered her with.

Though building and implementing a guiding beacon over the course of a single night wasn't what others would usually call, 'dabbling'. But the circumstances had been different; rage and despair compelling even a man like Garrett to outdo the most adamant of inventors and welders on that terrible night. Adrenaline, was a powerful motivator indeed.

"But why would the Hammers wanna get involved in any of this?" Basso argued. "Even if they are skilled enough to craft these bombs, don't they usually pride themselves on preservin' and buildin' UP the city?"

"Hmm, good point..." Sophie bit her bottom lip, feeling befuddled.

Gwenevere thought for a moment, as a pinprick of recollection began to ebb its way into her flustered mind. Putting a finger in her mouth, her eyes suddenly illuminated with realization.

"Father Volkorn..." she whispered. "Woksworth told me that the High Priest and Lady Lilithia, were plotting something against me and my Merry Gang! What if...she teamed up with the church in order to turn the citizens of The City against me?!"

"Makes sense," Garrett added with a snort. "Lady Lilithia has always despised Gwenevere, and no doubt feels threatened by her ties to the baronhood. If she could somehow get the general public to hate and fear Gwenevere-"

"-Then she could snag up the baronhood for _herself_..." Sophie added. "Oh Gwenevere, I am so sorry..."

"Hey! Don't worry about it anymore, Sophie. That's okay...you've been through so much lately, and those mimic thingies sure do look awfully convincing."

"That does make a lot of sense," Garrett commented, "still, if you ask me, there must be _something_ in it for the Hammers as well. Those guys don't exactly strike me as a charity."

"Well, Wokksie DID mention that Father V. was hoping someone might eventually turn me in to him. So that he could...burn me..."

"WHAT?!" Garrett's eyes widened in irate shock.

This plan continued to deform and warp with each passing moment. All this carnage, all this widespread terror and death. Just so the High Priest could burn a wood nymph alive, and Lady Lilithia could steal back her seat of power. The thief felt his stomach buckle, and he nearly vomited. Taking several deep breaths through his mouth, he turned around and looked his nymph dead in the eyes.

As they clashed, the phantom bellowing of a train could be heard somewhere off in the distance. At that moment, Garrett no longer considered it a fool notion to flee The City. To return to Nethalzia. Hell, the girl could even work at that nauseating little bistro she loved. He wouldn't try to stop her this time. All he wanted, was to steal her away from this madness, and the wicked hands who now grasped and struggled to try and undo her.

"Garrett?" Sophie's voice beckoned the thief away from his horrific visions of fire and screams. Of grinning priests, and evil nobles.

He broke eye contact with Gwenevere, and faced her. Sophie gave him a grim look, and gingerly kicked something towards him. It was a coal-grey stone bomb. Beside it, were scorched bits of leaves and thorns, as well as several large footprints. But what struck the thief as both odd and fortunate, was the crimson hammer emblazoned in lead paint along the front of the explosive.

"Maybe I'm wrong, but this looks like some pretty damn compelling evidence for your Hammerite theory," Sophie spoke in a hushed voice.

"Leave it to those crazy Hammers to emblazon their taffin' insignia on everything..." Garrett mused, focusing his eye forward to snap another photograph, "...even when they're trying to frame something, they're slaves to ritual."

"Eh, well those things would've shattered into a gazillion pieces upon impact anyway, so it's not like their plan was gonna get found out," Basso corrected.

"It just did..." Garrett grinned devilishly, as he snapped the last photograph.

Once he was finished, Sophie pulled a pair of dark gloves from her pack, and went to work on collecting all the burnt leaves and thorns from the rooftop. She then sealed them away within a small coinpurse.

"It may not be the best thing, but I didn't exactly bring any evidence bags with me," she weakly joked.

"I'd be happy to take the change for you," Garrett grinned. Sophie shot him a condescending scowl, and shook her head.

"I bet you would be," she laughed. A fragment of the simple, yet beautiful relationship they had once shared, sparked between them for a brief moment.

"Do ya think we should take the bomb too?" Basso asked, grunting as he pulled himself up from the rooftop.

"Couldn't hurt!" Gwenevere giggled.

"Oh yes it could," Garrett murmured under his breath.

"Aw, come on now Garrett!" Basso chuckled, reaching down to pick up the weighty explosive, "they might demand physical evidence of the bomb. Ya never know!"

"Just...be careful with that, okay?" the thief warned, involuntarily placing a hand out in front of his face.

"Yeah, yeah. Don't get yer cloak in a knot..."

"Alright," Sophie stepped forward. "I think we've nearly compiled enough evidence to clear your name, sweetie. Garrett, if you could do me one small favor?"

"Why do I get the feeling that it's not exactly going to be 'small'?" the moonlighter crossed his arms. Sophie released an exasperated breath, and put her hands on her hips.

"Do you want to help Gwenevere, or not?" she asked.

"Fine. What is it?"

"I need you to break into Lady Lilithia's estate. We have plenty of evidence against the Hammerites now, but we still have no way of tying those monsters to her. And since we KNOW they don't belong to the Hammerites..."

"I get it," the thief groused. "I'll see what I can find."

"Ooh! Ooh!" Gwenevere began to bound up and down. "Can I come with you Garrett? It's been oh so long since we went on a mission together! Pweeeze?"

"Well..." the thief watched her beg and plead for several minutes more, until it became impossible for him to hide his delight with her childish shenanigans, "...okay."


	95. Chapter 95

The sheer exuberance which enveloped Gwenevere as she tore freely across the rooftops with Garrett that night, was by far the most exquisite sensation she'd ever experienced. The balmy Summer air caressed her face as she ran, the shingles clattering beneath her tiny toes. Her arms fell back behind her, and the nymph felt a rush of adrenaline as she picked up speed. Garrett was already a good twenty feet ahead of her by this point, his movements quick and calculated as he sprinted forward through the night. Gwenevere watched as the thief leapt without thought between two buildings, and her heart leapt with him.

There, he stopped. Still crouched from his landing, Garrett observed her with a most precarious look in his eyes. Almost as if he were deciding whether or not the young girl could make such a jump. Gwenevere grinned. She had learned much from her time away from him, and now was her chance to expose just what she was actually capable of. Before a single word could be exchanged between the inverse pair, the nymph bounded across the gap before her with an agility which would make any woodsie lady proud. She landed but a foot in front of her thief's face, panting from the sheer rush of this new experience. Garrett stared at her, his mouth agape.

"How did I do?" she asked, craning her head to the side.

"Gwenevere? How and when did you _possibly_ find the time to learn any of that?"

"Well, I wasn't a vigilante every minute of my day, silly!" she giggled. "I took days off to relax, or to train in the woods with Ayeena."

"Ayeena? You mean that Pagan friend of yours?"

"Yep! That's her!" Gwenevere nodded.

"Huh," was all Garrett responded with. Gwenevere craned her head in the reverse direction.

"Garrett? What's the matter? Did I do something wrong?"

"No. No, it's not that," he cleared his throat, and turned away from her wide and questioning stare. "I just...I just wish I could have been the one to teach you those things..."

As the last of those lamenting syllables were forever lost to the endless requiem of the night, the wood nymph felt her heart begin to flutter. But it wasn't a giddy or sweet emotion this time. It was the sickening realization, that she'd inadvertently caused her mentor pain. Regret. Loss. A moment in her life had been seized upon, and it was not by his hands. An experience, which could never be replicated. One that Garrett, would never be part of, no matter how dreadfully he may have desired to be.

Perhaps one of the most challenging-and downright perilous-aspects of the thief's character, were his experienced tactics for concealing not only his form; but his very essence and intentions from the world. This unfortunately included even those he had deemed trustworthy. Those he cared for the most. There were indeed times wherein Gwenevere never truly knew when she had hurt him. Until he would chose to express such torment, and that was usually only after the thief's rocky exterior would splinter into places. Like the impenetrable shadows lurking deep within the heart of an onyx, so too, did Garrett's true emotions reside in the deepest recesses of his soul. Showing themselves to no one, until the rarified occasion, when his mortality managed to catch up to him.

As she watched the impact of his own words take corporeal form across his desolate features, Gwenevere reached out for him. His arm felt cold as she graced it with her fingertips, the tense muscles and sinews locked into place. Garrett's frown intensified, and it became obvious to the girl that he was grinding his teeth.

"Garrett," Gwenevere began, retracting her hand. She knew better than to touch him for an extended period of time when he was this upset. "I regret ever causing you this anguish. If I could forget everything for your sake, I would. But, would you really want that?"

Garrett slowly turned, a look of intrigue radiating within his eyes. Her inquiry surprised him. As such, he actually considered his answer for several minutes before speaking.

"No," he grumbled out, a long sigh preceding that simple phrase. "It was stupid of me to be so remorseful over that anyway. I sometimes have a difficult time admitting this, but I'm not the only person who can teach you. Maybe that's the real reason I detested the idea of your Merry Gang. Of Derick, and Ayeena, and even Mcclay. They were all teaching you new things, new ways to survive and accomplish your goals. I think a part of me resented them for taking that task away from me."

Gwenevere smiled at his capricious confession, and the bravery it took for the thief to conjure it. She leaned against his shoulder, and released a gentle breath.

"Yes, it's indeed true that I have learned many new things from them. But know this, Garrett: No one will _ever_ take _your _place. Even if I do learn new things from others, none of them will ever have my respect and admiration the way you do. Only you, could ever be called my master."

Garrett exhaled an unsteady breath through his nostrils, before glancing at the nymph with a smug expression plastered across his lips. He quite liked it when she called him 'master'. Until Gwenevere, the thief had been the only one to refer to himself as such. Indeed, there were others whom had called him by this title, but always with an air of indignation, annoyance, or even mockery. Though he had never required the validation of another living soul before, it felt oddly pleasant, knowing that this girl regarded him with only the highest levels of respect for what he was.

"Thanks, Gwenevere," he mumbled. "I really appreciate that."

Garrett gasped as Gwenevere lifted her head, and raked her tiny nose against his. She giggled, before enrapturing her thief in a quick, yet meaningful embrace. Scrawny arms tucked around the back of his cowl, she pulled his face into hers, until their foreheads touched. Garrett neither smiled nor spoke, his posture loosening only for a moment, before returning to stiffness in her embrace. He wondered if he was the only one who remembered that they were indeed, still several stories atop the ground.

He looked at Gwenevere, marveling as her eyes sparkled and gleamed amidst the night. They were wild and serpentine, and as green as the flaming tail of a wisp. Green as flawless emeralds, tinted with golden flecks of endless sunlight. It was times such as this, when the master thief truly remembered, that this was a formidable creature he held in his arms as delicately as any human woman. There had always been something so fiendishly seductive about holding a lethal dryad so close to his palpitating heart. Danger, had always been the criminal's secret lust.

"I speak only the truth," Gwenevere whispered, granting his thirsty lips just a hint of her nectar-infused mouth.  
_  
Damn it, Gwenevere. Don't be such a little tease..._ he smirked.

As if sensing his words, the nymph released him from her grasp with another giggle. Garrett watched as she got to her feet, shaking his head at her sudden shift in demeanor. But she was right. Rooftop dalliances would have to wait. They still had an important job to do.

***  
The Master Thief had never experienced the privilege of robbing from Lady Lilithia before. Much like her late husband, the mistresses' mansion was reputed for having an unbreachable chain and lock coiled around its many secrets. This-to Garrett's knowledge-included being riddled with traps and guards. But some even whispered, that there was much, much worse to fear on the madam's property. Hence, why the two had ventured here under that winking curtain of stars.

About three seconds had passed, before Garrett first caught sight of the curious barred structures. They towered over the lady's own estate by nearly a story, but were completely devoid of any windows, or even walls. That was when, with a disconcerting trill of unease, the thief realized just what he was gawking at. These weren't towers. They were cages. Lady Lilithia appeared to have constructed an outdoor menagerie within her very backyard. But for what manner of beasts-that, remained the question. A question, which Garrett indeed hoped he held the answer to.

Otherwise, this entire trip had been a waste of his time.

Gwenevere pawed at his elbow, prompting the thief to glance down at her. The nymph was frantically sniffing now, her eyes sealed shut to enhance her focus.

"Gwenevere? What is it?" he asked.

"It's faint, but there's no mistaking that stench. Those things, were definitely here too."

"And since we know that the mimics haven't been attacking any members of the nobility..." Garrett concluded, a sly grin stretching its way across his gaunt face.

"Yes. Lady Lilithia is almost certainly behind this!" Gwenevere growled, staring up at the pristine mansion before her.

It made her sick, wondering just how a person could unleash such horrors upon a city, only to sleep contently within their bed that very night. A part of the domestic dryad wanted to burst into the lady's boudoir, and tear out her lying, wicked throat. Gwenevere knew that it would be far more difficult with her flimsy human fangs, rather than those proud talons she once possessed, but she had to try!

That's when a firm, yet comforting grasp found her shoulder. Gwenevere released a small whimper, as the pronounced snarl she'd been unwittingly composing, droned off into the night. She looked over her shoulder, to see Garrett giving her a rather complex expression. It was as if the thief was indeed trying to see into her mind in that instant. To read thoughts which she knew he would never understand. Could he even do that? Gwenevere knew better than to question her thief's limitations by this point.

"Gwenevere," he began, his words cautioned and slow, "I don't know what you're planning to do, once we break inside. But I need you to promise me, that you'll think very carefully before attempting any of it."

He had not read her mind, of course. But Garrett was a very, oddly intelligent man for his time. He'd been educated by some of the wisest minds on earth, and he'd learned a thing or two about body language from men who often hid their true intentions behind fleeting gestures, or pensive stares. It didn't take the moonlighter long, to realize what his nymph was plotting-her constant growls certainly hadn't done her any favors!

It was entirely Gwenevere's choice-and right-if she wished to kill Lady Lilithia. After all, this was the bride of a man who'd imprisoned her for over a decade. Garrett was also well-aware that Lord Vladimir Simmons hadn't been the only one to torment the girl, or cause her harm. Lady Lilithia had undoubtedly played her part in the nymph's abuse as well. But now, she had slandered Gwenevere's good name. Her very standing with the humans she loved above all things.

He remembered how he'd felt, after Viktoria had been seized from his wanting grasp by that gilded cathedral. After he'd screamed her name in what he'd known at the time to be one of his most desperate moments, another name soon followed. This one, laced with all the visceral contempt and malice he could muster within his bereaved state. The thief had always despised killing, but in that moment, he'd of gladly slain the false prophet himself. With his bare hands.

But Garrett, was not Gwenevere. He could not pretend to know what she wanted. What he did know, was that killing the Lady in this manner-at this time-would only bring more justification for the people to despise and fear her.

"Garrett...is it really so obvious that I want her dead?"

"Yes," he groaned, rolling his eyes without a moments hesitation. Then, in a quite solemn voice, "but let me ask you this, Gwenevere: What would happen, if someone found out what you'd done. What do you think would happen then?"

Despite the muggy evening air surrounding her, an icy sensation trailed down the nymph's spine. No, if she did that-however tempting it was-her name would be forever soiled amoungst the populous. Even with all of the evidence they'd gathered, there would be very little chance of Gwenevere ever clearing her good name. Because, she wouldn't BE good anymore.

"You're right Garrett," Gwenevere shook her mane of vibrant red violently, "I _refuse_ to give Lady Lilithia's accusations any merit. I'm no longer a killer! I haven't ended a man's life for almost a year now, thanks to your discipline and teachings."

"Let's try and keep it that way," Garrett agreed with a nod. Then, he spun the nymph around to face him, catching her by the shoulders. "It took real guts to realize that on your own, Gwenevere. You never cease to amaze me, and for that, I'm proud of you."

"R-really?" she gasped, biting her bottom lip. The thief granted her a sparse smile, and nodded again as his gaze upon her softened.

"Yeah. Really."

And as that precious moment faded into history, the Master Thief and his loyal wood nymph entered Lady Lilithia's foreboding realm. Neither knew what they would find, or if they would be the only creatures lurking within the shadows of that place. But they did so, regardless.

***

Rummaging for information-of any sort-proved to be difficult. The lady's manse was immaculate, almost suspiciously so. But what surprised Garrett more than anything, and worried him thus, were the throngs of Hammerites patrolling her halls in place of the commonplace guards. The thief's bi-colored stare narrowed, and he licked his lips in minor frustration as his instincts began to weigh in on the unexpected hindrance. Gwenevere was tucked into an alcove beside him, her petite form being practically swallowed within the breadth of the moonlighter's cloak.

"See any ways in?" she asked, popping up just behind the thief's left shoulder. Half of his cloak still hanging loosely over her head.

"What the taff's up with all the Hammerites?" Garrett groused, ignoring her question.

"Suppose that fits with the evidence though, huh?" Gwenevere offered, her cheery voice somewhat muted with trepidation.

"Well, if either of us still had any doubts as to whether or not Volkorn and Lilithia were in cahoots, I'd say those doubts just lost all merit."

Another Hammerite came marching down the moonlit hallway, causing both thief and nymph to pull further back into their hiding place. Gwenevere cringed at the domineering thunder of his iron boots trampling the pristine marble floor. Garrett leaned around the corner, watching as the intransigent sentinel disappeared from view.

"Now's our chance," he grunted, taking hold of her little hand.

Gwenevere's heart fluttered when she felt the urgency within his grasp. She did not allow the feeling to overtake her though. No, that would diminish the thrill of the experience. Secretly, she loved that rush of severity. Of fear. It felt like electricity traversing her body, coming out her fingertips in a series of jittery shakes. And so, the nymph abided his call, and it felt phenomenal.

Across those shaded halls they sprinted, a blur of black and green, their silhouettes staining the tall windows for but a moment which no creature would remember. A jovial grin lined the lips of the wild-eyed girl, whilst the older man retained a most somber look of pure concentration, and diligence. Two juxtaposed souls eclipsing the optimum features of their counterpart.

She almost ran ahead of him, so elated with the rush of adrenaline. Garrett managed to grab her belt, startling Gwenevere enough to conclude her romp. Embarrassed, the nymph regained her composure, and joined him in the closest room. That turned out to be the kitchen.

"We can hide under there, until that Hammer makes his way back around again," Garrett instructed, pointing to a lovely mahogany table.

Without waiting for her to agree, the thief slipped beneath the blue satin tablecloth. Gwenevere sank to her knees and crawled under to join him. It was a tight fit, especially for two. But something about that, was exciting to her in its own right. She pulled her legs up tight against her chest, and sighed.

"Do you really think we're on the right track?" she whispered.

Garrett offered no words, but rather pressed a finger against his lips, giving the flustered girl a harsh scowl. Gwenevere did not attempt to ask any more questions.  
Her wondering mind was tugged from all conscious thought, as an enormous Hammerite entered the kitchen.

Hammerites, by default, were extremely large men. The order demanded all converts, all those who dedicated their lives to becoming templers of the Builder-to be in peak physical condition. Those with weak endurance, or flimsy forms, were not worthy to wield the hammer. But this man-was a literal giant. From beneath the table, all Gwenevere could see where his feet and calves. The former was a good thirteen inches, and the latter, as thick as a small tree. When he sat down in one of the kitchen's cushy chairs, she felt the tiles beneath her palms and knees quake. The wood nymph fought back a squeak, as the gargantuan brute pulled himself up to the table. He buckled his knees beneath the thing, getting comfortable-and nearly kicking Garrett in the face in the process.

Gwenevere shot the thief a frantic, questioning expression. She began pointing upward, then out towards the hallway. Again, he placed a finger to his lips, shaking his head. Gwenevere rolled her eyes, and slumped forward in defeat. For the moment, she was stuck under this table. And it was no longer a fun sort of crowded, either.

"Becky!" the Hammer hollered, slamming one of his fists down hard against the table.

The rattling wood shook Gwenevere's body, causing her to jerk back upright. Garrett had to catch the nymph by the shoulder in order to save her from bashing her head against the bottom of the table, and giving away their unfortunate position. Another pair of footsteps clicked down the hall, this one demure and meek by every comparison. A young woman, no older than perhaps fifteen, emerged into the kitchen.

"Yes, M'lord Hammerite," she spoke, her tone one of nervousness.

"Thy commander hath granted a respite. Bring forth min sustenance, if thou wouldst," the armored zealot demanded.

"You mean to say, that you want your dinner now, s-sir?" the girl croaked.

"Damnation, fool child! Dost thou wish to irk me?!"

"N-no sir...I-I'll go and get you some s-supper..."

Gwenevere watched as the poor young maid scampered somewhere out of sight, obviously terrified. She waited, watching the master thief for instruction. Wondering in respectful, pensive silence, what his next move would be.

While it was always so fascinating to watch Garrett go about his craft, to learn from his example, the little nymph was nonetheless growing apprehensive. She knew full well, how the thief could wait patiently-undetected for hours-without making a single sound. A single move towards his goals, if need be. Gwenevere, did not possess that sort of patience. She was a creature of movement, of action. Her threshold for composure was paltry and laughable in comparison to his. That, was what worried her.

She knew running, or making any sort of sound would not only get her discovered-it would endanger Garrett as well.

But all the same, Gwenevere was unsure just how long she could remain like this. The hard tiles were beginning to make her knees ache, and her hands were getting antsy again. The temptation to do something, was forcing her mind into a struggle against her better judgement. Wood nymphs feared nothing more, than being confined. And frankly, this sensation of being trapped, was beginning to overwhelm her.

The servant girl returned with great haste, and set something down upon the table. Presumably, the irate Hammerite's dinner. He began digging into it immediately, as Gwenevere could hear the sound of metal utensils scraping against the plate. The girl left, and with her departure, came a most empty expression from Garrett. It took a moment before Gwenevere realized, that her thief was utterly bored, and downright frustrated. Then, another look-this one, she recognized instantly. He was beginning to concoct a plan within the folds of his seasoned mind.

As the thief pondered their awkward predicament, a chiming clatter caught Gwenevere's ears. The nymph jerked back, turning her head to meet the flicker of silver as it twinkled just out of reach. Without thinking, she reached for the thing.

"You dropped your fork," she offered, poking her hand out from under the tablecloth.

Garrett's face grew livid with shock, the color pouring from it almost unnaturally as his features paled in disbelieving horror. He couldn't speak, even if he'd tried. In that moment, his lips felt sewn shut. He pried them apart, however words still eluded him. As did any means of undoing the 'helpful' girl's pointless blunder. Flabbergasted, he watched through feral eyes as the giant above them plucked the utensil from Gwenevere's fingertips.

"Oh, thank thee," he grunted, his words revealing that he was only partway cognizant of the situation. Garrett released an inaudible sigh. Maybe, by the grace of whatever nameless god, they'd managed to avoid a confrontation.

But those thoughts were shattered within seconds of Gwenevere's noxiously cheerful, "you're welcome!" That's when the Hammer's nonchalance faded, and his mind finally caught up with him.

"HEY!" he roared, standing from the table.

The Hammerite tore the table cloth away, sending his meal-and whatever small candles and nick-knacks had resided atop it-to smash and splatter against the walls and floor. What he was left with, were two unwanted visitors, one of which looked thoroughly exasperated.

"Damn it Gwenevere..." Garrett sputtered, his instincts moving him forward.

This man was easily the largest Garrett had ever seen, now that he was standing up. Almost as tall as the Trickster himself. Almost. Readying a gas bomb within the folds of his cloak, the thief took careful aim just as the muscular warrior produced his mighty weapon. But it proved unnecessary.

With a shrill and almost adorable battle cry, Gwenevere scooped up a nearby frying pan, and propelled herself upward, landing atop the Hammerite's backside. Then, she scampered upward, holding onto the crusader's armor and cape as he flailed to try and dislodge her.

"Off of me, foul creature!" he bellowed, and began swinging his weapon about. Gwenevere was forced to duck a few times, but never dismounted her quarry. Using her pan, she bashed the righteous warrior against his helmet again and again. It wasn't about to harm or incapacitate him, but it was doing a pretty great job of keeping him just disoriented enough.

Garrett watched on with a look of utmost perplexity, readying a gas bomb as Gwenevere swung her legs around the Hammerite's shoulders, steadying herself. He swung underhand up towards her head, but she bent backwards, using her legs to hold on. They tightened around the man's neck, and in his panic, he lost control of the weapon. This proved to be all the time the feisty vigilante needed. She popped her head down in front of the Hammer's flustered face, and stuck out her little pink tongue.

"Yoo-hoo!" she teased.

The brute growled, as he regained control of his weapon. Garrett flinched as he watched the furious warrior proceeded to swing the powerful hammer at the pesky little imp. But against his better judgement, he found himself curious to find out what else Gwenevere had learned. And afterward, he was glad he gave her that chance. In a beautiful display of all the pristine agility she'd learned from both Ayeena and her thief, Gwenevere pulled back, causing the giant to send the weapon crashing into his own face.  
The Hammer groaned, falling to his knees as he began to lose consciousness. Gwenevere leapt from his shoulders, just before he hit the ground with an earth-shattering crash. She set the frying pan down atop the downed zealot's head with an accomplished smirk.

"That's my girl," Garrett smirked, crossing his arms. "But you could have just let me gas him, ya know?"

Gwenevere just smiled.

"Well, this WAS my fault to begin with. I had to fix my own mistake," she replied. The thief returned the expression, surprised by her maturity.

"That's right. It was at that," he grunted, proceeding to drag the unconscious giant underneath the table. It wasn't much of a hiding place, as the soles of his large feet were still quite visible.

"Guess that'll have to do," Garrett murmured, "I don't usually need to hide _ogres_..."

Gwenevere trotted to his side, replacing and smoothing over the tablecloth once he was finished hiding the body. She chose to ignore the thief's bitter words. Garrett's acidic remarks were of little consequence anymore, after all. The nymph understood that it was just his way.

"Shall we?" she asked, pointing out into the dark hallway.

"Might as well," the thief groused.

***

Gwenevere and Garrett continued their analysis on the lady's estate. Their hunt for any evidence which would link her to the mimics without question. However, their expedition met with a rather startling development just as they proceeded to enter the third hallway. Springing a locked door, thief and nymph ran headlong into a gang of uptight Hammers, on their way to attend to the hollers of their hungry friend.

"Um...hello," Gwenevere smirked, shuffling her feet. She then proceeded to wave at the heavily armed men. "So, how are you fine gentlemen doing this evening?"

"Halt! Foul housebreakers! Thou must be put under the righteous punishment of the Builder, and atone for thy heretical ways!"

"Huh? So that's how it's gonna be, hmmm?" the nymph pursed her lips. "And here I was hoping we could all just sit down and play a nice game of Wicked Grace..."

"Well damn," Garrett huffed through his nostrils. "Guess this just isn't our night."

Before Gwenevere had a chance to respond, the thief grabbed her up like a ragdoll, and sprinted out of the room. The Hammerites immediately gave chase, stomping through those delicate and pristine hallways of Lady Lilithia's mansion. Expensive furniture toppled, sending lacy doilies and bejeweled vases plunging to the marble floor.

"Garrett, they're gaining on us," Gwenevere mentioned, bobbing up and down as she continued to watch the furious zealots as they tailed them through the mansion.

"Not a chance," the thief responded, his voice neither exhausted nor angry.

She shrieked as Garrett took a sharp right, his boots hitching up a rug as he skidded into to the adjacent room. Several of the angry guardians tripped over it, falling forward over one another in their mindless pursuit. The thief looked over his shoulder and grinned, his metal eye twinkling through the shadows. He shrugged Gwenevere free of his shoulder, catching her by the waist as she fell.

"You alright?" he asked, still holding the wide-eyed girl aloft. Gwenevere stared into him for a moment, and blinked.

"Woo-hoo!" she cheered, far too elated to worry about the repercussions. "That was FUN! Why didn't you _tell_ me you knew how to have fun, Garrett?!"

"Guess it slipped my mind," he grumbled, listening as the Hammerites began to regroup. Grabbing Gwenevere by the wrist, he took off running again.  
The twosome tore into the next bedroom, startling a poor servant girl who was in the process of changing. She flushed the most interesting shade of red that Gwenevere had ever seen, and just for a moment, the nymph could have sworn that the thief did as well. Heading back towards the kitchen, Garrett sprinted into the larder.

"This is where it gets a bit tricky," the thief spoke again.

Without giving her a chance to respond, Garrett picked up the dazed nymph once again. Gwenevere slung over his right shoulder, the master thief leapt over several arranged boxes containing fruits, and exotic cheeses. He managed to swipe an apple on the way, a smug grin donning his lips as the Hammerites behind him began to stumble and curse amidst the scattered foodstuffs.

"Are we almost there?" Gwenevere questioned, getting quite tired of being manhandled.

"Just about," Garrett mumbled, setting her down beside a rather precarious trash chute. Gwenevere gave the filthy thing one sniff, and made a most comical grimace.

"Okay. I may not be a lady in a literal sense, but I DO still have my standards," she snorted.

"Just _go_!" Garrett shouted, shoving her into the chute by her rump. The girl released a brief yip, and then squealed with excitement as she descended into the moldy abyss. Garrett followed after, one of the Hammerites making a mad grab for his cloak.

His reward, was a handful of very dissatisfying emptiness.

***

"Well, that SHOULD have been fun, but it wasn't," Gwenevere pouted, dragging a banana peel from her long red tresses.

"Thieving can be a dirty job, Gwenevere," Garrett brushed some questionable grime from his tunic, and removed a fish bone from the folds of his cloak, "thought you would've realized that by now."

"Yeah, well-" she prepared an acidic retort, but something stopped her.

Gwenevere's jaw dropped, as an icy chill ran down her back. They were now on the outside of the mansion, and directly in front of them, were the towering cages. They seemed even more sinister and frightening up close, their spiked tips seemingly piercing the moon. The rest of the back area appeared relatively normal for a noble's abode. There was a garden filled with exotic flowers and herbs. There were distinguished topiaries, and a majestic hedge maze. Overall, quite normal. But all the same, something about this place, gave Gwenevere reason to panic. Wickedness had concealed itself here betwixt the mundane. This much, she knew.

"Would you look at that," Garrett nodded up at the impressive looming prisons. "That must be where she keeps the things when they're not out doing her dirty work."

"Uh-huh," Gwenevere couldn't offer a better response at the moment, her eyes drawn towards the hedge maze. Whatever evils stalked this outer landscape, lingered deeper within.

"Gwenevere?" the thief asked, taking notice of her apparent inattentiveness. When she did not respond, Garrett walked over to her, and lightly tapped her shoulder.  
Gwenevere leapt a full foot off the ground as his calloused digit made contact with her skin. Garrett jerked back, his face one of visible surprise. The wood nymph turned around to face him, clutching her still palpitating heart.

"Don't DO that!" she panted heavily. Garrett threw up his hands in resignation.

"Fine," he snorted. "What's got you so jumpy anyway?"

The agitation faded from Gwenevere's features, replacing itself with a great unease. Fingers shaking, she pointed out in the direction of the hedge maze. Garrett grinned.

"Yes, that is a rather garish choice in landscape," he smirked.

"No, no, NO!" the girl barked, "not the maze itself-but what's waiting on the other side!"

The thief's stony features grew the slightest bit intrigued at her statement.

"What are you talking about Gwenevere," then, with well-hidden trepidation, "do you smell any mimics here?"

"No, thank goodness!" Gwenevere sighed. "Nothing but old traces." Garrett, relaxed a bit more too.

"Then what is it? What's on the other side of that maze?" he demanded, growing impatient. The girl had just given him a mild scare, after all. And he didn't appreciate that one bit.

"I don't know, Garrett!" Gwenevere snapped. "But we have to keep exploring anyway, don't we?"

"Yeah. Anyway, if this is where Lady Lilithia houses those creatures, chances are we'll find what we're searching for in the vicinity."

So down the gloomy path they trekked, their boots crunching apart dead leaves and brittle weeds. A pair of topiary burricks glowered down at the thief and his vigilante companion, as they entered the winding promenade. The listlessness of their features, and the deep voids where reptilian eyes should have been, made these leafy copies seem even more intimidating than the real creatures from which they were cast.

The hedge maze rose up around them, the moonlight casting ominous shadows amidst the threatening landscape. More than once, Gwenevere reached for Garrett's hand. She allowed the thief to guide her out of that terrible verdant labyrinth. Turned out, it wasn't nearly as complicated as she'd feared. A few twists and turns which were quite simplistic in their nature.

Awaiting them at the end of the unsure path, was a small, humble shed. Immediately, Gwenevere's panic began to amplify. Her grip tightened around Garrett's hand, as she began to hyperventilate. He jerked his head towards her, weighty concern donning his face.

"Gwenevere? What's going on?" he beckoned.

Gwenevere didn't respond. Her flesh had gone pale, the alabaster moon now comparable to her stark features. As she turned to face him, her eyes as wide and helpless as a petrified doe, Garrett began to grasp just how much danger they were now in. But what was it, which now had them trapped at the end of an unsettling garden? Did _she _even know?

"We have to get into that shed, and quickly," Gwenevere muttered, her palms growing moist against the thief's leather gloves. "I don't want to be here anymore. I'm afraid."

She was afraid. Garrett hadn't heard her say that in so long. He still recalled how jumpy the girl used to be, back when she still believed torchlight a harmless friend. Back when Gwenevere couldn't advance ten feet without bumping into something. Ever since that quaint evening beneath the frigid, and smoke-laden Autumn sky. Ever since she'd first conveyed all of her deepest desires and yearning to a criminal, with one simple word: Freedom. Since that night, Gwenevere had begun to blossom. To grow. Garrett had watched her spread her branches to the moon, felt as her thorns unwittingly pricked at his heart. Listened, as the soft gales carried her every whimper and giggle to his attuned ears.

As unfitting of an atmosphere that it was, the thief found himself growing sentimental. He still yearned for those easier days, the benign simplicities of being with a girl who knew nothing of the real world. Back then, Gwenevere truly was like a little door to paradise. As she confided in her teacher, he listened with quiet inquisitiveness when she spoke of the world around them. The world, as innocent eyes saw it. Garrett always thought her so foolish, but he would never voice such opinions. Because sometimes, even in naïve whimsy, there is truth. Perhaps what the thief missed the most, was the truth in those words. The belief that perhaps, even in darkness, there always existed a ray of hope. Sacred things, scattered amidst the ugliness.

But it wasn't to last. Gwenevere had grown up, and she had lost her innocence to the chilling authenticity of The City. That wondrous little door had been viciously locked, and despite all of his skills, Garrett knew that this was one lock which he could never re-open. Deft hands and decades of experience held no value when it came to figurative doors. To the innocence a young girl had lost-by his hand. Fingers of icy wisps now drew these beautiful memories away from his heart, as if proclaiming that this benumbed shade of a man was not deserving of tenderness. Of the love of a wild, and blissful creature.

He knew that they were correct. But mutually, thief and nymph rejected these bold claims. And they would continue to do so, until the end of their days. Because over the course of her training, Gwenevere had taught him some things as well. Among these, she'd taught him that love wasn't something you gain because you are worthy. It is something you inherit, because someone adores you with every fiber of their being. And to be _worthy _this gift, all you must do, is love them back.

The thief pondered these things for a while longer, never turning his gaze from the nymph as she bristled defensively in the darkness. If she'd a tail, the thief had no doubt that it would have been puffed up to double its size.

"Gwenevere," he began, in a haggard tone.

"Y-yes?" the little nymph replied, her body language conveying a world of anxiety.

The thief drew closer to her, and enshrouded the tiny girl within his cloak. Gwenevere gasped, staring up at him through the shadows of that warm and smoke-scented realm. Garrett smiled.

"You don't have to be afraid, alright?" he grunted, pulling her body to his. "Nothing's gonna hurt you, Gwenevere."

"Garrett?" the nymph whimpered, her eyes glassy and wide. Then, she smiled. Tucking her thin fingers tightly around the edge of his cloak, a delicate blush found her cheeks. Then, with a tired, yet very contented sigh, the words, "thank you for saying that," emerged from her soft mouth.

The thief turned away from her gentle gratitude, and glowered at the wooden shed before them. He'd wasted enough time feeling for one evening. They were in peril, after all.

"Come on. Let's finish what we came here to do," he ordered, and sauntered over in the direction of the eerie wooden structure. Gwenevere remained fastened to his side the entire time.

His oddly imposing stature, coupled with those confident statements managed to vanquish the paralyzing dread from Gwenevere's system. Knowing that this relief wouldn't last under such perilous circumstances, the nymph made the educated decision to follow her mentor's advice, and finish the task with haste. Approaching the locked shed, Garrett turned to face his companion with a warm expression.

"Would you like to do the honors?" he asked her, motioning towards the obstruction.

It was a rusted and ugly little lock, not at all what one would expect, given the pristine and elegant appearance of the rest of the mansion's exterior. In fact, the more Garrett thought about it, everything about this lonesome shed seemed off. He would have recanted his latest offer to the girl, had Gwenevere not already started. Garrett sighed, keeping a close eye on her progress, as well as the surrounding area. She'd gotten quicker at her picking, that much was evident. It took his old apprentice a little under a minute to spring the lock. Nowhere near a record by his account, but in Gwenevere's case, it was indeed remarkable.

"Hey Garrett?" Gwenevere asked, replacing her picks, and backing away from the door.

"Yeah?"

"Do you think that maybe the Collector could help secure me a new pair of lockpicks?"

The thief was equal parts surprised and hurt by her question. Those were her training lockpicks of which she spoke, after all. The pair he had personally given her.

"I'm sure he could, knowing Monty," the thief remarked with a sardonic sigh. "Why? What's wrong with the pair you've got, Gwenevere? They seemed to do the job just fine a moment ago."

"Oh, it's not a matter of efficiency," the girl clarified, "I merely wish to have a pair that matches the compass you gave me. I'm actually thinking of matching all of my tools with that compass."

The reveal of why she wanted to replace her lock picks, replaced any misgivings with a gentle warmth. A spry grin subconsciously took form amidst his darkened features. He was genuinely surprised that his gift had meant so much to her, considering the unpleasant series of events which followed its presentation. It stirred the thief's emotions in a rather unexpected way, to say the least.

"I see," he spoke in a gravelly tone, his touched expression invisible beneath the shadows of his cowl.

"I mean, the training ones you gave me still work great and all, but I've also been trying to be more self-reliant, ya know? And I think a self-reliant thief should purchase their own tools."

Again, his chest swelled with pride upon receipt of her maturing words. That was until, the realization of a glaring omission crossed his thoughts.

"Gwenevere, how did you know that I got your compass from the Collector?" he asked, wondering if she indeed also knew what he had traded away for the gift.

"Oh, we've kept in touch since we were introduced at the opera that one time," she smiled.

"How?" Garrett raised his eyebrow incredulously.

"Garrett, I have an entire Merry Gang at my disposal," she chided. "Suffice to say, I have my ways..."

"Yeah, I guess you would-little miss Robin Hood," he smirked.

"That's _Robber_ Hood," Gwenevere laughed, "and don't say stuff like that! I'm nowhere near as amazing as that guy!"

_Wanna bet?_ Garrett reflected with a smug expression, as Gwenevere proceeded to open the door to the mysterious wooden shed.

***

As a flighty midnight's breeze closed the door behind them, all of Summer's warmth seemed to be sucked out of that foreboding little enclosure. Garrett felt a surge of electricity jar his heart at the image presented before him. A large sanguine pentagram was drawn upon the icy stone floor, with what appeared to be a very strange bioluminescent material. Candles bleeding red wax sat arranged at the four corners of that unnerving configuration, while a strange black substance pooled in the middle of the vile star.

"What is this place?" Gwenevere's gasp hitched into a terrified squeak as she spoke.

"I think a better question would be, just what in the hell has Lady Lilithia been doing in here?" Garrett replied, his fingers coiling apprehensively around the base of his blackjack.

Gwenevere surveyed the sinister little room for further information. There was a myriad of all things occult lining the desk, floor and shelves of the building. Everything from bloody daggers, to human skulls. It was around this time, when she noticed the book.

"Garrett, check this out," she whispered, as her celadon eyes began reading the text. From behind, she could feel Garrett's hot breath grace the back of her neck, as he too began to read.

It didn't take either of them very long to discover the purpose of this horrifying room-or the origin of the lady's peculiar pets.

"Just when I thought nobles couldn't get any sicker...this one was literally summoning demons to become her pets..." the thief spat.

"Yes, and according to this passage here," Gwenevere pointed to where she was reading, "they were enslaved to bow to her every whim via ritual."

"Which leaves no question about it. Lady Lilithia, commanded those things to take your form, and commit murders in your name," the thief snarled, visibly disgusted by his own words. "She's the one who framed you, Gwenevere. And the Hammerites-more specifically Father Volkorn-have been helping her do it."

"What is this city coming to?!" the nymph cried out, trying not to hyperventilate. "All of those people. All of those horrific acts. Just so they could get to _me_! For heaven's sake Garrett! In the absence of a baron, the Hammerite High Priest is supposed to lead and care for The City! Why would he-"

That was when it hit her. Like a vicious attack which tore the last blindfolds of innocence from her eyes, forcing Gwenevere to finally see the truth. Becoming the baroness, had been _her _chosen duty. _Her _responsibility. And due to her refusal to accept that role, her unquenchable lust for freedom. Her choice to run from duty in order to chase her own dreams, Gwenevere herself, was responsible for the current state of her beloved city.  
_  
Oh gods...this is all my fault..._ she panted, her green eyes wide. _If I'd just taken over...I could have protected everyone at once-not just the poor. I've...I've made a terrible mistake..._

"Gwenevere? Gwenevere!" Garrett shook her when it became painfully evident that something traumatic was plaguing his nymph's mental state. "Gwenevere, snap out of it!" he ordered.

The hiss of his voice, coupled by another harsh shake, managed to tear the poor creature from her torment. Gwenevere gawked up at him, her eyes as wide as those of a lost child. Garrett ground his teeth, his eyes pensive and narrow.

Deeply concerned.

"What happened just now, Gwenevere? What's come over you?" the thief demanded, his hands still clutching her upper arms. "You haven't had an episode like that in months. What's going on?"

Gwenevere choked back tears before answering him. Garrett watched her swallow, her jaw strained as she did so. It was oh so obvious that the girl was trying her hardest not to cry in front of him, although he was unsure why. Gwenevere had always felt comfortable crying around him in the past, even taking refuge within his strong, seemingly invulnerable embrace. What made tonight so unique? That, was perhaps what bothered him most of all. When the nymph exhibited such unprovoked shifts in her behavior, it was always a cause for concern.

"Grab that tome Garrett, and take as many pictures with your eye as you see fit," Gwenevere finally spoke, in a dull variant of her normally jovial tone.

The thief did as he was bade-which surprised him to no end. But his dominant position over the girl mattered not in that moment. Garrett was far too preoccupied by what was prompting this dire shift in her demeanor to care. He took a few photographs of the pentagram, skulls, and the blood-stained daggers. He dog-eared the odious spell book, and swiped it off the table. Then, he turned and faced Gwenevere.

"Got it. You gonna tell me what's going on now?" he asked impatiently.

"We need to get all of this stuff to Sophie. Come on," the flustered dryad mumbled, refusing to even look at him as she went for the door.

"Gwenevere!" Garrett blurted, rushing past her to block the door.

Gwenevere retracted the hand with which she was preparing to grab the handle, and looked up at him. Garrett's eyes were glistening in the darkness of that place, the wicked red glow of the pentagram causing his cloaked form to resemble that of a deranged cultist.

"We're not leaving here, until you tell me what's come over you!" he warned.

With a delicate, tearful sigh, Gwenevere slowly closed her eyes.

"I just realized what I have to do, in order to protect this city from Lilithia and Volkorn. That's all..."

"Then why did you lose it like that?! What part of protecting this putrid little city could possibly cause you to react in such a way? I'm not buying a word of that Gwenevere!" the thief growled, his metallic eye gyrating in the darkness. It focused in on Gwenevere, just as a single tear managed to escape her left eye.

"It's just a difficult choice, Garrett. It's something that will be very new, and very hard for me. And I blame myself for not making that choice sooner. That's the truth, Garrett," she promised. Garrett exhaled a long, frustrated sigh from his nostrils, the dead air of that place beginning to chill him.

"Well then, what is this choice you've decided to make? Can you at least tell me that?"

Gwenevere glared up at him, his intimidating frame never leaving the doorway. She bit her tongue, and then grunted in mild aggravation.

"Can you wait a few hours before I tell you? Would that be okay? I need to gather myself first," she explained.

With the utmost reluctance, Garrett backed away from the door. His face still locked into a scornful glare, he spoke but five words to the enigmatic little creature.

"I'll hold you to that..."

Gwenevere, did not offer a response.


	96. Chapter 96

It took Garrett and Gwenevere less than an hour to report back to Basso and Sophie with their findings. It was now nearly dawn, the timid periwinkle highlights of an impending new day just beginning to reveal themselves within the eastern sky. Evidence in tow, the foursome made their way down to the warehouse district in Dayport. Sophie had since gotten into contact with Frankford, just as promised. He had readily agreed to meet them without arousing too much suspicion.

Gwenevere padded along beside her thief, her identity concealed beneath the hood of her long navy cloak. Without her One-Eyed Pirate Queen get-up, and the power to change her hair color now vanquished, a common cowl was the best she could do in order to obscure her regal identity. The disgruntled bluecoat was waiting just where he'd promised, leaning against one of the many tawny brick warehouses. He put out his cigarette when he noticed Sophie advancing in his direction, tossing the bud to the ground. Frankford grinned a mouthful of yellowed teeth, watching the others in her party with a burgeoning interest.

"Yer late," he commented, as Sophie began waving.

"Since when have you _ever _given a damn about punctuality yourself, Frankie?" Sophie teased, holding out her arms. The two old friends embraced, though perhaps a little too long for Sophie's liking.

"How've ya been, Angela?" Frankford wheezed, calling the older woman by her alias. Sophie was far too keen to make the mistake of giving anyone outside of the slums her real name.

"Same as always," Sophie joked. "Yourself?"

The bluecoat took a step back, and leered up at Garrett with keen intrigue. But there was something threatening locked away behind those icy eyes. Something venomous. Something treacherous.

"Fine, fine," he nodded. "Who're yer friends?"

"Oh them?" Sophie chuckled. "Just some extra hands to help carry all of this evidence we've found. I think your people will find this all quite fascinating!"

Garrett snorted. Her smile betrayed the safety and discretion she felt whilst in the presence of this individual. A sure sign, that like Basso, Sophie was losing her edge in this uncertain, and often fatal game. Sometimes, Garrett wondered if he was the only decent player left.

"Well, perhaps," Frankford's uncomfortable smile lengthened. "But I think they'd prefer to meet you and your 'extra hands' in person..."

The thief's brow furrowed at that, and he took a subconscious step backwards. Every fiber in his body screamed for him to get out of there. Turning to the concealed wood nymph, his expression grew dire.

"Gwenevere, we need to-"

"-Well, I'm flattered! Truly I am," Sophie continued, disrupting his paranoia, "but I'm sure you can understand why that wouldn't be at all possible, eh Frankie?"

"Yup..." Frankford smirked, his eyes never leaving those of the master thief.

"So, how long do you think it'll take you clear the girl's name?"

"Well, I'll do my part, of course Angela. But, you do realize that I'm a very busy man. In fact, I recently came into contact with some rather juicy information. The likes of which are gonna make me a very wealthy man indeed!"

"Really?!" Sophie grew jovial. "Oh Frankie! That's...that's fantastic news! So, how did you make this fortune of yours anyway? You haven't been going behind my back with another informant, have you?" the underworld matriarch weakly joked.

"Naw, Angela. Or should I say, _Sophie_..." the crooked officer was sure to stress that last part, "you've given me everything I'll ever need..."

With that ominous statement, Frankford snapped his fingers twice. Garrett's eyes grew feral, darting towards his right as several shadowy figures began to move forward from within the warehouse.

"Sophie..." the thief tried to warn her, but she was too far out of earshot.

"I, don't understand," Sophie shrugged apprehensively, shaking her head. "Y-you know my real name? B-but I-I haven't-"

Sophie's confusion was cut utterly short, as twelve other men emerged from the murky bowels of the building. Her heart plummeted into her gut, as the boxman's sister instantly recognized them. Bluecoats. And unlike her treacherous contact, these ones didn't seem the type to be bought or bargained with.

"Shit..." Garrett grumbled.

He reacted immediately, grabbing for Gwenevere's wrist in an attempt to flee. With the pristine agility of a great cat, he whirled around and prepared to sprint. Only to be met with a second wave of advancing sentries. At least thirty of the bastards. The thief's fearsome glare intensified. He had never seen so many guards in one place before. But these, were far from the incompetent and bumbling bluecoats he'd come to know. They were wearing bizarre masks over their faces; elongated, ugly things of metal and thick grey leather. Two small circular glass apertures covered the eyes, as they stared hollowly out at the master thief, encompassing his entire body with uncertainty, and a primitive dread.

"Frankford! What the taffing hell's going on here?!" Sophie demanded, watching as the army of city watchmen began to surround her companions.

"He sold you out, Sophie..." Basso muttered, his face frozen into a look of hopelessness and indignation. Atop his shoulder, Gloria squawked and flapped her wings. It almost appeared to the boxman, like she was trying to ward off his hunters.

"Wake up Sophie!" Frankford sneered, before bursting out into cold, mocking laughter. "You of all people should know where I stand. I go, where the offer's best. Sorry to break yer heart toots. Truly, I am."

Sophie backed away, her hands shaking as they reached for her two concealed blades. She leered up into the complacent face of the man who had dared to cross her.  
"Frankford, you son of a bitch! I looked out for you! How could you do this?!"

"Times is rough, Nightingale. I really need that money, and that thief yer so chummy with is worth a fortune these days," he pointed directly at Garrett. "Hell, I could bring in one of his fingers an' still walk away with a sweet purse of coin."

"Bastard..." Sophie bristled. The Black Alley Angel straightened her posture, her eyes stabbing at her betrayer where her daggers could not reach. Frankford continued to laugh.

"Oh, and before you wonder aloud, yes. I'm still arrestin' you. _All _of you. Even if it ain't nearly as much, there's still a bounty on your head as well. Besides, you ain't exactly givin' me much incentive ta pardon you-what with language like that, lass."

Sophie said nothing, but her aghast expression spoke for her. She looked over her shoulder at Garrett, shuddering in anticipation of the hooded man's inevitable chagrin.  
But it was Gwenevere's face, which broke her spirit. Those petrified, trusting green eyes of hers. Pleading for a deliverance which would never come. Sophie clasped a trembling hand around her mouth, her throat beginning to tighten with a crushing guilt.

"I'm so sorry..." she whimpered, hoping that the others could hear her. But she wasn't so sure they did.

"Wanna line up so my boys can arrest you orderly-like?" Frankford crossed his arms, an accomplished grin poisoning his words.

"I should have guessed you'd turn on me sooner or later. After all, you aren't even loyal to the _guard_!" Sophie hollered back, making sure that the other bluecoats heard her. "Why don't you tell, _'the boys'_ about the time you sold Garrett and I keys to the lockboxes inside First City Bank and Trust?!"

A few of them cast questioning glances in Frankford's direction. The treacherous guard began to tense, but recovered rather quickly from the incriminating accusation. An oily grin oozed its way across his jagged face, those disgusting yellow teeth contrasting with the surrounding gloom.

"How DARE you?! Slander the honor of a loyal guardsman with such outlandish and baseless accusations, will ya?" Frankford seethed, and waved a hand in the direction of one of his subordinate officers. "Shut the bitch up..."

Upon receipt of that order, one of the masked bluecoats produced a small crossbow from his outer pocket, and aimed it in Sophie's direction. Before her mind could react, she felt a cruel prick on the side of her neck. The sudden surprise caused her to shout, but she fell silent just as quickly. Within a matter of seconds, Sophie had collapsed to her knees and fainted. Basso gasped, as he rushed forward to aid his little sister. Pulling her head into his lap, he glowered up at Frankford.

"What the hell did you taffing bastards just do to mah sister?!" Basso seethed. Frankford grinned like a menacing beast, as he loomed over the two siblings.

"This little baby, is the future of incapacitation," he stated, taking out a dart of his own and holding it between his chubby fingers. "They're quick, inexpensive, and if ya give em' enough shots, a clean and painless death ta boot! E-yup, no more gallows for the scum of this town. Well, maybe save one..."

He pointed the dart in Garrett's direction, but the hooded rogue didn't notice. The thief was still far too preoccupied with trying to find a way out of this trap. It would be easy enough to just flee with Gwenevere slung over his shoulder again. But Basso, and a now unconscious Sophie? Now _that_, was an entirely different story. Even if this was Sophie's fault. Even if Basso was an unsalvageable idiot. The thief had his credo; and he wasn't about to leave his two oldest friends behind to die.

Some of the bluecoats began growing impatient, starting towards the thief without their supposed 'leaders' expressed orders. Garrett had to wonder if some of these men had experienced personal defeats at his hand on separate occasions. The sheer malice within their posture seemed to support that theory anyway. As did what was to follow.

"Move in. Grab the girl," Frankford ordered. "I don't know who she is, but if she's hangin' around this lot, then she's bound to be trouble. Let's take her back to the station, and see if she matches any of the criminals we've got on file."

A pair of bluecoats nodded, the latter producing a heavy-looking pair of iron shackles. However, when he attempted to steal the nymph away from Garrett's clutches, he was instead met with a vicious gas bomb to the face. But to the thief's horror, it appeared to have no effect. Garrett watched, jaw agape as the debilitating fumes wafted away in the early morning breeze. His befuddlement was intercepted by Frankford's insidious laughter.

"Criminal scum! Did you honestly think that would work this time? We've been studying you for years now, Garrett! And we're more than prepared for your many tricks," he jeered.

The thief leered up towards Frankford's confident appearance. That stupid, unsuspecting grin, plastered against an unprotected face.

"Well, at least _they_ are..." Garrett smirked, tossing a flash bomb straight between Frankford's eyes with stunning accuracy. The unscrupulous bluecoat howled in both shock and anguish, as his vision became a pulsating hell of high-pitched ringing, and blindness.

"Damn you!" he screeched, his frantic voice two octaves higher than per usual. Garrett almost had to grin at that. He sounded like a spoiled child. "Cuff him! Cuff him right now!"

Again, the watchmen reached out for the thief and his wood nymph. Gwenevere sputtered and hissed like a wet cat, taking wild slashes and bites at the advancing men whenever they attempted to apprehend her beloved thief. One of the bluecoat received a rather nasty scratch just shy of his right eye, causing him to fall back screaming.  
But as she watched the blood pool at the impact site, another, far more disturbing scream permeated itself within her mind. Flashes of that dreadful night in her father's chambers tormented the girl, as she watched her trusted mother disfigure the man she loved. Holding her head in her hands, Gwenevere backed away with a whimper. This was all the time another bluecoat needed, to attempt to capture her.

"Gotcha, bitch!" he sneered, voice muffled by his mask as he pulling the traumatized girl forward.

But he released her immediately thereafter, as the thief's body rammed into his. The guard stumbled backwards, only to see a most frightening visage upon the master thief's hateful face.

"Don't you _taffing _touch her!" he snarled, moving protectively in front of Gwenevere.

"Garrett! Ima comin' buddy!" Basso shouted, hobbling forward as he delivered a series of violent, yet inaccurate punches to each bluecoat brazen enough to get in his way. Even Gloria played her part-pecking and scratching at any guardsmen who dared stray too close to her handler.

But it was quaint and fool-headed to believe that three criminals could outweigh the force of an entire unit for very long.

Although the boxman struggled to assist his mate with loyal ardor, his overweight physic and sedentary lifestyle hadn't exactly prepared him much for physical altercations. While Frankford gradually regained his eyesight, the boxman was quickly apprehended. Gloria was grabbed from his shoulder, and tossed into a burlap sack flailing and squawking.

"You weasely taffers! Sheriff Benny's gonna hear about this! I know the guy personally, ya know!" Basso protested.

"That drunk?" Frankford smirked, "you'll be lucky if you can get him to walk a straight line."

The remaining bluecoats then proceeded to tackle Garrett to the street, Gwenevere still locked within her catatonia, and Sophie lying unconscious in the road. The thief's vision blurred red as his skull collided with the cobblestone, and he stifled a winded gasp. That was until, a particularly ornery guard kicked him in the stomach.  
Garrett's eyes flew open, his left bloodshot and quivering, and his right, gyrating and buzzing intensely. The pain was horrendous, if only because it had been so unexpected. After the initial shock, involuntary responses forced the criminal to curl over around his battered organs. But the bluecoats were far from finished with him.

"This is for makin' a fool out of me at the Wieldstrom Museum! I lost my job because of you!" spat one, kicking the suffering moonlighter in the face.

"So you call yourself a master of stealth, eh? Let's see you try and sneak away from this!" taunted another, before stomping down as hard as he could against Garrett's side.

The sickening crack was barely audible over the thief's guttural protests. A lesser man would have laid there, submissive and beaten. But not Garrett. Even as the pain grew to torturous levels, even as each breath he drew into his lungs began to burn like hot steam, the thief still made the attempt to correct his position, and clamber to his feet.  
But though his tenacity was strong, Garrett was still a runt of a man compared to these armed officers. They now had him completely surrounded, and they weren't about to permit an end to his overdo suffering.

"You ain't goin' nowhere, taffer boy," another watchman sneered, kicking the struggling man back downward onto the ground. Garrett exclaimed in white-hot agony as his battered body once again collided with the stony streets. The barbarous onslaught, resumed.

"GARRETT!" Gwenevere shrieked, the sounds of Garrett's agonizing outcries enough to pull the nymph from her internal purgatory at last.

She sprinted to aid her thief from the huddled mass of bluecoats, and fought desperately to pry them off of him. Clawing and biting against their armor and muscles, she howled and snapped like a rabid wolf. But as she quickly discovered, the powers of a wood nymph are far superior to those of a human girl. Gwenevere was easily shoved aside, powerless to stop his torment. Upon landing on her backside in the cold mud, a large guard swiftly approached from behind, and succeeded in apprehending her at last. Gwenevere shook and shuddered as he latched a weighty pair of shackles around her slender wrists.

"There. Now you just stay sitting there nice and easy-like, lass. If yer a good girl, and you ain't in our records, we might even let you go tomorrow," to Gwenevere's abject repulsion, he ran his index finger around her jawbone. "I want ta get ta know ya a bit better later tonight, heh-heh..."

"Try it, and I'll bite your damn root clean off," she snapped.

"Ooh, feisty, are we?" he chuckled at her spunk. But when his wandering fingers attempted to explore past her neckline, the perverse man was greeted by a savage bite.  
Pulling his hand back in astonishment and pain, the guard ground his teeth.

"Stupid little tramp!" he sputtered, slapping the nymph across the face. Gwenevere wailed at the sharp impact, and from the grimy pavement, Garrett's metal eye flew open.

"Gwenevere!" he wheezed, desperately attempting to claw his way towards her. But it was useless.

Her cheek ablaze, Gwenevere remained there in the mud, helpless, as the human she adored continued to suffer. Continued to pay for her own worthlessness, and mistakes. She could feel her heart breaking; each of Garrett's suffering-infused protests causing the cracks to fracture further outward across her chest. At last, she could bear it no longer. She opened her mouth, those marvelous green eyes of hers alive with a furious devotion. Her own wails and screams began to drown out his own, prompting the attacking bluecoats to cease their brutal onslaught, and stare at her. Even Garrett, bloodied and broken, managed to open one of his bruised and swollen eye sockets just long enough to observe the soul-shattering performance she was giving. He watched through forsaken features as the same guard slapped her again, but Gwenevere refused to be silenced.

"Men! Ignore that insane bitch, and bring the thief to me!" Frankford belatedly demanded.

Pulling Garrett to his feet, the bluecoats obeyed. They lead the tattered remains of the master criminal to Frankford. He smiled down at Garrett's bruised and bloodied body for several wonderful moments, before punching him directly in the face. The thief spat out a tooth, and leered vehemently up at his tormentor.

"Garrett, the master thief. You are hereby charged with assault, robbery, and the barbarous murder of the Thief-Taker General," a menacing smile pulled taut the corners of the corrupted guard's mouth. "And since they remain yet unaccounted for, we also see fit to charge you with the murders of both Lord Vladimir Simmons, and Heleana Macnorelli."

"WHAT?!" Garrett's pulverized face grew livid. "Where the hell's your evidence?!"

Frankford smiled up at the two guards holding Garrett tightly by the arms. They all began to chortle in sickening unism.

"Send for the town crier. Tell him to spread the news of the master thief's foreseen execution," Frankford gave Garrett a sinister grin, completely ignoring his inquiry. "I wanna make it nice and public when HE goes..."

"You can't decide any of that without a trial!" Garrett bellowed, still spitting up blood.

"That's where yer wrong, taffer. Ya see, we don't exactly have a ruler at present-less ya count that maddened High Priest. Ergo, we don't see the need to follow due process," Frankford sneered wickedly, before abruptly punching the thief in the stomach. Garrett seized once, before expelling a mouthful of blood and stale air from his searing lungs. Then, his entire body went limp.

As Gwenevere knelt there, helpless to do much of anything beyond sobbing and listening to the torture of her beloved, they came. Memories of her life, of the places she'd been and the humans she loved. Of riding a train through the night, the rural scents of Nethalzia, and all of the hidden places Garrett had shown her during the course of their rather unconventional relationship. She thought of her Merry Gang, of Derick and Ayeena. Gwenevere wondered if they would ever manage to untangle the complex strings which now held their two hearts in limbo. She certainly hoped so. She thought of Sophie and Basso. How they had risked-and lost-everything that night, just to help _her_.

For the first time, Gwenevere began to wonder what it actually was like to die. Where did the soul go, when the body was finished? With a brisk shudder, Gwenevere began to ponder if she even possessed such a thing. And even in the event that she did, what would happen to it after she perished? Gwenevere was certain that she would never be allowed to set foot into that flourishing paradise her people called The Green. She had defied the very god who was master of that realm, after all.

Gwenevere didn't know what fate awaited her beyond the grave, or if her current life held any true merit within the eyes of eternity. However, she_ did_ understand something very poignant indeed: Sometimes, one must sacrifice personal freedom, for the sake of love.

Gwenevere was, despite what some would assume, far from stupid. She was well-aware of the consequences that her bold decision would warrant. What it would ravage from her future. The little nymph knew, that safeguarding the city she adored-protecting the people therein-would strip her of that freedom which she'd struggled so brutally to obtain. It would cast her into a roll which would inevitably ruin her life. But for Gwenevere, the choice was simple. Because she loved this city, and its humans, with all of her heart.

"Oh, to the contrary!" her soft, yet determined little voice rang throughout the night like a bell. Standing upright from the city streets, she removed her hood with some difficulty, due to the shackles.

Through swirling pain and hazy red vision, Garrett watched as her glorious sanguine tresses bounced into view with a whimsical beauty. Gwenevere's piercing woodsie eyes gleamed like those of a liberated animal. As he toiled to regain his composure, a sinister chill shook the thief. In that soundless moment, he realized just what his daring femme fatale was planning to do. It seemed positively mad, but then again, Garrett had never been fully convinced of the girl's sanity to begin with.

_Oh no..._

He silently held his breath, hoping against all logic that this red-haired pixie wasn't_ that_ foolish. She wasn't about to throw her future away like this, right? That freedom she had worked so very diligently to obtain? But hope and fate had always despised the thief, and tonight would be no exception.

Her green eyes intense and promising, Gwenevere locked them with Frankford's as he and the others were reduced to wordless simpletons by her dramatic reveal. The lecherous guard whom had slapped her, folded in on himself with mortified embarrassment, his fellows all glowering in his direction. But for the most part, everyone remained locked within an awestruck stupor.

The return of The City's rightful heir-who'd gone missing months ago-had returned.

"Can it be true?" blubbered one.

"Is...is that really young mistress Simmons?!" marveled another.

"Yes, it is indeed I!" Gwenevere proclaimed, "and as rightful ruler of this city, I _demand _that you release my friends! Oh, and yours truly, if you don't mind..." she blushed.

"O-of course!" Frankford stammered, fumbling to unlock her shackles, "b-but with all due respects, my good lady...these 'friends' of yours...are wanted criminals!"

The nymph took a moment to observe each of her companions-her family members-as they were now. Basso, sweltering and panting. Gloria, still cawing and flapping her wings in the darkness. Sophie, unconscious and defeated. Garrett, beaten beyond recognition, and within an inch of his life by these so-called, 'saviors of the people'. She scowled up at Frankford, her gaze wild and hateful.

"Unless YOU wish to face the gallows, then I suggest that you do as I taffing say!" she hissed.

"Y-yes! Right away, m'lady!" Frankford abided. With some visible reluctance, he turned and addressed the others. "You heard her ladyship! Release the fugitives!"

Basso was the first to be set free. He walked up to the furious nymph, still rubbing his wrists.

"Kid? What the taff are you doin?" he whispered through clenched teeth. Gwenevere gave him a saddened, accepting smile.

"The only thing I can, in order to save this city," she replied softly. "To save those I love the most."

Gwenevere looked away from the boxman's curious stare, only to have her eyes lock with those of the master thief. The expression upon his face in that moment, was quite possibly the most obscure look he'd ever given her. It was like looking into the face of a muted, deranged killer. It was a look of abject distain, but there were also hints of a vast, and grievous void. Dismay and lament.

The moment he was released, Garrett rushed towards her. A couple of bluecoats intercepted him, fretting for their regent's safety. However, the thief's intentions were anything but hostile.

"Gwenevere! What the hell do you think you're doing?!" he barked, writing and twisting within the grasp of his captors. Gwenevere looked up at Basso again. The boxman appeared every bit as baffled as his best mate.

"Answer me, damn it!" Garrett spat, his expression contorted and vicious by this point.

"Hey, watch it you taffer!" one of the guards ordered in an imbecilic voice, "you better not speak that way to the baroness ever again, or I'll-!"

"-That's quite enough, gents," Gwenevere interrupted with a reticent dip of her head. "Escort this man and his companions back to the slums if you please. Gently."

"As you wish, ma'am," Frankford gave her a hesitant bow, before rallying his men.

Gwenevere watched tearfully, as a bluecoat lifted Sophie's listless form from the road, Basso being ushered along behind her. The boxman's pet was removed from her burlap prison, and eagerly hopped back up to her rightful spot atop his shoulder. Basso looked over said shoulder at the young woman as he was led away, a curious frown accenting the unimaginable sorrow harbored within his eyes.

Garrett wasn't so easy to 'escort'. Despite the severe extent of his injuries, the thief effortlessly broke away more than once from the armed guards. On his fourth attempt, he managed to come within three feet of The City's new ruler.

"Do you have any idea what you've just done?!" he criticized, "Lilithia and Volkorn will _slaughter _you, now that you've announced yourself in such a careless manner!"

"That's a chance I have to take, Garrett," Gwenevere responded, an angelic serenity within her words. "This city has already suffered enough. I had to do this."

"No! No you didn't, Gwenevere!" Garrett snarled. "I could have gotten free; you know that!"

"With all due respects, my thief," Gwenevere began in a hushed murmur, "I didn't just do this for you."

"I _don't _understand!" Garrett sneered, still bristling at her cool remark. "Taffing girl, do you realize what you've just cost yourself?!"

"Yes. I do. But if sacrifices are to be made on this city's behalf, then I will be the one to make them."

"Why you?" he argued passionately, "this damned city isn't your problem, Gwenevere! It never has been!"

While he continued to quarrel with her, two bluecoats approached him from behind, and grabbed the thief's arms once more. But this time, they also shackled Garrett's sinewy extremities behind his back to prevent a future escape. He continued to fight them back however, all the while grunting and gnashing his teeth. That was until, a silky hand made contact with his rigid face.

Garrett ceased his struggling immediately, instead making eye contact with Gwenevere. She ran her delicate fingers down his cheek, as if trying to remember every outline of her cherished teacher's face. Every imperfection, which truly made her thief unique and charming. His mouth still agape, Gwenevere cupped both of her hands around his jawbone, closed her eyes, and pulled the moonlighter into a long and sensual kiss.

Several of the bluecoats gasped, and some even cursed. But it was the greasy Frankford, who watched on with a mix of piqued intrigue, and silent distain. Through their shouts and protests, Gwenevere never faltered. Even as the tears began to trickle free from beneath her fluttering eyelashes. Garrett's temper flared as he felt her run that supple pink tongue around the inside of his mouth. He did not want this. He did not want her to taste the blood steadily oozing from his lips and gums. He did not want her to treat him so tenderly in front of his enemies. He did not want her, to say goodbye.

It was all just too much, and far too fast. Rebelling against her affection, Garrett violently turned his head to the side, causing the wood nymph to break away.

"This isn't the time for that!" he shouted at her, his tone dripping with apathy.

Gwenevere inhaled a deep breath to quell her pain, and then swallowed the lump building within her throat. It granted her very little solace, rather adding to that infernal sensation of loss that was quickly expanding within her chest. She was alone now. Completely on her own. For the first time, in her entire life.

"I apologize," she stated stoically. "I just wanted to-"

"-I don't care!" Garrett retorted with a shout. "Answer my question _now_, Gwenevere! Why _you_?!"

"Why me? Because I was chosen to carry this burden," the nymph cried. "Even if he never intended for it to end up like this, Simmons_ did_ legally adopt me all those years ago."

"That doesn't matter Gwenevere," Garrett panted. "That has NEVER mattered to me! Just leave this putrid city to rot!"

"I'm afraid that I can't do that," Gwenevere gave him a sympathetic smile, the tears now beginning to obstruct her vision. "I'm tired of running. I'm tired to trying to become something I'm not. I promised myself a long time ago, that I would help the people of this city. All of them. Therefore, the next logical step, is to take responsibility for The City as a whole. And that is exactly what I intend to do, Garrett."

Garrett's pupil dilated, a disbelieving breath exiting his mouth as his mind fought against the madness of her decision. His body shook, and the world began to tilt as the thief fought to process it all.

This couldn't be happening! Gwenevere was no noble, she was no goddess. No leader, by any measure of the word! She had done well enough with her cute little Merry Gang, but this was an entire _city_. A city, which harbored many dangerous people; most of whom wanted to see her precious life snuffed out. Garrett pulled forward again, his legs kicking and flailing in protest to her ludicrous reasoning as he was dragged away.

"Gwenevere, this is insanity! Gwenevere! Damn it, listen to me! GWENEVERE!"

The nymph turned away, unwilling to watch her beloved thief's decent into hysteria. Tears still streaming from her eyes, she replaced the cowl up over her head, and followed the bluecoats back towards the Keep.

Garrett, never did stop shouting her name.


End file.
